


Restore Default Settings

by FearFactory



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Time Travel, they're like 18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearFactory/pseuds/FearFactory
Summary: The recording ends."You wouldn't," Kyle warns, shaking a little."Oh, but I would. And I will. You've been an awful little shit to me, don't think I've forgotten about the skankhunt incident. I never did get you back for that. And many things."Kyle Broflovski, the smartest, most stubborn guy he knew was dead. He would only have ever gone down by his own volition - suicide.  Eric feels himself slipping away, guilt eating him alive. He would do anything to turn back time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A random idea I had and it turned into this. If you want to see shity south park fanart made my me: https://pastafearfactory.tumblr.com/

Rain poured down, soaking the black clothes of the attendees. How typical. If it weren't for the situation, Eric would have even chuckled about the cliché rain. But he didn't.

He barely even paid mind to how the rain caused his suit to cling to his body; all he could do was stare at the coffin in the ground. All wood, no nails. It almost felt cheap to him. He watched as a man started tossing dirt onto it with a shovel, looking away with a pitiful expression.

As the pile of dirt on the coffin began to increase, Eric finally snapped out of it. His eyes widened and he felt bile rising up in his throat. He began to shake and tears welled up in his eyes. Taking a few steps backwards, he felt his breathing get quicker and shallower. Oh no. He had to go, run away before he lost his resolve. He was Eric fucking Cartman and he didn't cry. Yet he couldn't leave. He almost felt an invisible chain keeping him there, his eyes glued the hole in the ground and a lump forming in his throat. Finally, the tears roll down his cheeks and he clamped a hand over his mouth to keep quiet. For a moment, he stopped caring if anyone sees him. His knees felt weak, he wanted to drop to his knees and scream out every profanity he knew, express the tight feeling in his chest, let out the immense feeling of guilt.

He didn't. He couldn't.

So he stayed as he was throughout the funeral. He could barely even hear anything anyone said, as it was drowned out by the beating of his heart and his breathing. He felt his feet move but couldn't focus on anything, his mind not even registering his actions. The lump in his throat became more painful and before he knew it, he landed face first into his pillow. He gripped it angrily with both hands and let out a frustrated scream that despite being muffled by the pillow tore through the silence of his bedroom. He laid there, tears soaking his pillow and the wetness of his clothes causing his bed to dampen as well.

The door was opened and his head finally snapped up from his pillow. His eyes were red and puffy and due to the tears still in his eyes, his vision was blurry.  He could feel snot running from his nose but he couldn't bring himself to even bother wiping it off.

"Eric, dear?" his mother's sympathetic voice rang out, her hand quickly covered her mouth in shock as she saw the state her son was in. She approached cautiously and sank to her knees beside Eric's bed. Eric flinched away angrily as she tried to wipe away his tears. He sat up and quickly wiped them away himself, crossing his arms in a defensive stance afterwards.

"What?" he spat, body shaking slightly in frustration.

"I just heard you coming in and then you yelled so I got worried…" she trailed off, looking away before she dared to speak again.

"I thought the funeral would last longer, was it not supposed to end at three?" She inquired, looking at her son again, eyes filled with pity.

"Yeah, I guess..." he felt his voice break and he took in a deep breath, "but I didn't want to waste any more of my time on that stupid thing!" He regretted the words as soon as he said them. He wanted to take them back, express his true feelings, cry, anything. But recently, he had learned first-hand that words cannot be unsaid.

His mother didn't look disappointed; she could probably see he didn't mean that.

"Are you hungry?"

Eric shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair.

"How about you get changed into dry clothes? I'll change your sheets," she offered, smiling a little. Eric shrugged and got up, walking over to his closet and grabbing some clothes before making his way to the bathroom.

As he turned on the tap, he heard the water splashing against the sink, droplets ricocheting from it almost like a small waterfall before him. He felt a strong need to plunge into it, to let the water wash away the mistakes he had made and turn back time. Instead, he scooped up some in his palm, flinching at the burning sensation and splashed it on his face. His eyes were no longer puffy but were still tinted red. He stared at the mirror and wanted to punch himself in the face so fucking bad.

When he entered his room again, he picked up his phone from his desk. He had a few messages from Stan and Kenny. He sighed, not bothering to open them as he knew they'd make him feel worse. He felt anger boiling in his stomach, he wanted so desperately to let it out, to turn back time and stop himself from being an idiot.

It wasn't often that Eric admitted his mistakes, but this was one he couldn't avoid no matter how hard he tried. He fell onto his bed again, his weight causing the mattress to dip. Sighing, he finally opened the texts.

**Stan: Dude, I can't believe you'd leave like that, you could have at least stayed until the end of the whole ceremony, asshole.**

**Kenny: You okay man?**

No, he wasn't okay, but he definitely was an asshole. He knew everyone blamed him for the situation - he wasn't surprised. But it wasn't the fact that his old friends saw him as an even bigger monster that caused him to grip his phone, it was the fact he agreed. And for once in his life, he wished he had listened to the people who had tried to change him for the better. Maybe then he wouldn't have caused _him_ to leave.

 

_"Wow, Kyle, so you're a fucking fag, huh?" He sneered, crossing his arms and smirking. Kyle pressed his lips into a tight line while clenching his fists._

_"I wonder what people would say…" he trailed off, eyes on Kyle as if he was prey and he was the predator._

_"I bet mommy dearest would kick you out~. A Jewish fag? Not under her roof." He stepped closer, grinning._

_"And your dear Stan. What about him, hmm? I bet he'd be mortified to know his best friend, the person he trusted, was after his dick the whole time!" He laughed, enjoying the utter look of terror on Kyle's face. "I bet he'd feel violated, after all the sleepovers and times he changed in front of you. He'd leave you in a heartbeat~" he purred and stood even closer. Tears of frustration were welling up in Kyle's eyes and threatening to spill._

_"You have no proof…" he muttered, teeth gritted together. Eric raised a brow triumphantly._

_"Oh?" he turned on his phone and pressed play on a recording._

_"What's wrong, Kahl? You've been acting so bitchy lately," Cartman's voice boomed from the phone._

_"It's none of your business…" Kyle answered, voice quaking._

_"Come on, Kahl, you were crying in the bathroom and had burn marks and cuts on your wrists. Don't be a bitch and tell me before I notify the school of your lovely self-harm habits." Kyle's breath hitched._

_"So you gonna tell me what's wrong? Your life is so easy, why do you do it? Attention seeking much?"_

_"It's not fucking easy to have a gay crush on your best friend, deal with the pressure you've been put under by your homophobic parents and want to die!" Kyle blurted out, whimpering after doing so._

_The recording ends._

_"You wouldn't," Kyle warns, shaking a little._

_"Oh, but I would. And I will. You've been an awful little shit to me, don't think I've forgotten about the skankhunt incident. I never did get you back for that. And many other things."_

_Kyle looked taken aback._

_"That was years ago!"_

_"Revenge is best served cold, buddy."_

_"Y-you can't! My parents will fucking flip! Please, dude!"_

_Eric shook his head. He lived to make life hell for Kyle and this would be the best stunt he would pull. Okay, maybe it was going a bit far- no, Kyle deserved it._

_The very same evening, Eric posted the clip on twitter, editing out him speaking first. The response was immediate. It was shared everywhere. By the next morning everyone would know and he could rub it in Kyle's face. He was looking forward to that. And with that in mind, he went to sleep._

_If only he had known better. When he went to school, he expected everyone to talk about Kyle and how gay he was. Well, they did, until the first period started and they were all called into the gym and it was announced._

_Kyle was dead._

_He had killed himself._

_His suicide note explained how much he hated himself and what he was, how he couldn't take it anymore._

_Eric stopped smiling. He felt absolute horror._

_All eyes landed on him accusingly, beheading him with their gaze for his crimes. It was his fault. Those bony wrists littered with self-inflicted marks. Kyle wasn't okay. And he pulled this stunt._

_He made his way towards his locker, shuddering as he felt the eyes of the whole school on him. Just as he was about to open his locker with shaky hands, a muscular arm slammed him into it._

_"You piece of shit!" Stan roared, his voice hoarse from what was most likely crying. Eric stared at Stan with wide eyes, truly scared. He didn't make a witty or offensive remark, he just waited for Stan to say something._

_"You did this to him! You killed him!" Stan was beyond furious, his eyes were puffy and red from crying._

_"Have you no heart?" he asked, quieter, "he was already unstable enough…"_

_Stan pulled away from Eric and cupped his own face with his hands._

_"Fuck…I knew he was feeling stressed and upset but I never knew the extent of things…" he looked at Kenny, who had watched the situation unfold, with a desperate look. Eric knew he could easily point out that it was infact Stan being a shitty friend not caring about his best friend's mental health that killed Kyle, but he couldn't. Not when he knew it was all his fault that Kyle was gone. He pushed past Stan and Kenny gently and opened his locker, tossing some books into it before slamming it shut. With a grim expression he left the school, heading home._

_He walked through the front door, gently pushing Mr. Kitty away with his foot as the cat approached, and dragged himself upstairs, collapsing on his bed. He fished his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the cracked screen and saw a multitude of notifications. Opening the Facebook app, he noticed dozens of comments addressed to Kyle, many from people who barely even knew him. He felt as if he was required to say something as well, but what? Nothing he could comment on a dead boy's timeline would redeem him. With that, he decided he was better off saying nothing and tossed his phone onto his bedside table._

_The following week, Eric felt glares on him from every angle. Stan skipped school for a few days, looking dead inside as he returned. Even so, he managed to shoot murderous looks at the overweight boy. The whole week, the thing he dreads the most is the funeral. It wasn't as if he could skip it, everyone would hate him even more. While he knew that, the thought of facing the Broflovski family made his heart sink._

_The only person who would still communicate with him 'normally', which meant they didn't yell slurs at him or completely ignore him, was Kenny. Other than his mom, of course. Kenny never actually quite stood up for him, because to be fair, he deserved the shit he got. Even so, he stopped Stan from smashing his face in a couple of times and would occasionally text him. He was starting to feel guilty for ripping on the boy all those years. Not as guilty as he felt for treating Kyle as he had though._

_When the funeral finally came around, he didn't actually say all that much to anyone. Surprisingly, Kyle's parents didn't glare at him or accuse him of killing their son. Ike certainly did. The black haired boy approached him angrily, his eyes narrowed. He was only 12, but already up to Eric's shoulder. He shoved him backwards, muttering about how he was a murderer. In a way, he reminded him of Stan. He didn't respond with anything. When he saw Sheila later, he cast his eyes down and mumbled a 'sorry'._

 

 

His eyes trailed to the small bedside table, landing onto a small red picture frame, decorated with shitty drawings of Terrance and Phillip and a few cats. He remembered having built the frame in woodworks class in 6th grade and proudly painting his favorite comedians onto it. The frame contained an old photo. Stan, Kenny, him and Kyle. They were ten, all sat on his couch and playing some video game. Kyle's green eyes looked so alive, a wide grin on his face and his vibrant red curls almost flying around him. He seemed to light up the whole room they were in with his joy. What had went wrong?

 

_He walked into the public bathroom, nose scrunching up a little at the terrible smell. He was heading towards a stall, his steps echoing through the seemingly empty room, when another stall's door swung open and Kyle walked out. He was pale, dark bags under his eyes. He towered at least a head above Eric, but his skinny frame made him look fragile. The wost parts of him were his eyes. The once bright and lively ones were so dull and lifeless, seeming to not even focus on anything. The whites of his eyes were tinted red, as were his cheeks. He had been crying._

_"Woah, jew, were you in there cutting yourself and listening to Evanescence or something?" he asked, laughing cruelly. Kyle shoves past him, eyes cast to the tiled floor. He quickly exits the bathroom, leaving Eric truly alone._

 

How did the happy laughter and nights spent playing video games turn into bitter expressions and crying in a bathroom stall? What had been going on in the red haired boy's head? What dark thoughts floated in his mind, clogging it? If only he could ask the boy.

He felt tears well up in his eyes again. If only he could. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like it, thank you so much for all the comments! They are greatly appreciated! I hope to write longer chapters eventually but for now we're stuck with 2k - 3k words haha  
> shitty fanart by me: https://pastafearfactory.tumblr.com/

Light brown eyes opened slowly, staring up at the ceiling of the room. The boy sighed ans rolled over, glancing at the digital alarm clock beside his bed. He groaned and sat up as he managed to make out the numbers: 7:00. Rubbing his eyes, he placed his feet on the floor, pushing himself up. He grabbed the phone from beside the bed, yanking out the charger in it. He checked the date and winced. 35 days since that incident. If there was any food in his stomach, it would have probably come right back up. He set his phone down again, a sorrowful expression on his face as his eyes glazed over the picture frame that had been pushed down, so the image in it would not be visible. 35 days and it still hurt like hell. Drowsily, he got dressed for school and trudged down the stairs.

He opened a cabinet and grabbed some toast, dumping two slices into the toaster. He made his way towards the fridge, prying it open with one hand, and peeked inside. When nothing caught his eye, he slammed it closed and opened another cabinet, grabbing a jar of Nutella. He almost dropped the jar as the toast popped out of the toaster. He glared at it and tore the hot pieces of toast from the toaster, not caring if his fingers got burnt. He tossed the bread onto a plate and slammed the jar of Nutella onto the table. He moved towards a drawer and pulled it out drowsily, mechanically taking out a shiny butter knife. He unscrewed the lid and scooped a bunch of Nutella out with his knife and dumped it onto his toast. He didn't even bother tk spread it before biting into it, staring out the kitchen window. The overload of the sweet taste might have made anyone else draw back in disgust, but Eric could barely even taste the food at this point.

Finishing eating, he rose from his seat and dumped the plate in the sink, ignoring the loud sound of it hitting the other unwashed dishes, which had been gathering in the sink. He dragged his feet along the tiles on the floor and shuffled into the bathroom. As he looked into the mirror, he saw a corpse staring back at him. Pale, sickly skin. Eyes with dark bags under them. He sighed and turned on the tap, holding his hands under the flowing warm water, staring at the small streams running down his pudgy fingers. He leaned closer to the sink and splashed aome of the water onto his face, almost hoping the dreadful condition of his face was simply face paint from Halloween. He looked up at the mirror again, disappointed but not surprised to see that no paint was running down his face. Instead, the jarring corpse was still there, as if waiting for the real Eric to join him in the afterlife. He quickly shook his head and grabbed his toothbrush, beginning to brush his teeth.

 

On the ride to school he barely focused on the road. As usual, he was thinking about Kyle. His eyes drifted to every ditch and tree he could see and for a few moments, he considered crashing his car to finally silence the thoughts of Kyle.

He parked his car in the school parking lot and got out, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat. He slammed the door shut and locked the car. Quietly, he headed into the building, keeping his eyes on the ground. He headed directly towards his locked and grabbed the books he needed. His gaze lingered on the locker a few ones down from his. Kyle's photo was tapes to the door and several dries flowers were poking out of the slits of the door. He stepped closer, pressing his head against the locker when no one was looking. He felt himself filling up with frustration. At himself, at Kyle, at everything. His hand clenched into a fist and before he could stop himself, slammed against the locker, causing the petals of a few dried flowers to crumble away.

Quickly recovering from his moment of weakness, he pushed himself away from the locker and hurried towards his class, praying no one saw him by the locker. He stumbled into the classroom and shuffled to his desk, sinking onto the seat while ignoring the eyes on him. As soon as he touched his seat, the bell rang, declaring the beginning of the period. The teacher stood up and began talking, which was the moment when Eric stopped listening. He placed his head on his arms and stared out of the window.

Eric finally snapped out of his daze three periods later, when he found himself in the cafeteria. He could barely remember anything prior to that moment of the day, having been half asleep for the whole morning. His eyes wondered around, seeing the younger students fighting and playing with their food. Soon enough, he noticed two familiar figures sitting alone at a shitty plastic table. Stan was poking at the food in front of him, looking as bad as Eric had that morning. Kenny seemed to have nothing in front of him, as per usual. He made no effort to approach, as he was well aware he was not welcome there. After collecting his lunch, he directed his gaze to the floor, not even bothering to look for a seat. He made his way to the door and wandered out, sitting down against the wall in the hallway. He placed his lukewarm tray onto his lap and began eating with an absent mind. The taste was almost non-existent and he chewed on it with distaste. He quickly washed down his bite with a sip of water and wandered to himself if the rest of his life would be just as depressing. Feeling a surge of anger, he wanted to blame Kyle so bad. To yell at the boy and tell him it was his fault Eric felt this shit. He completely lost his appetite when he remembered that he could never do that again. Never again, could  he spew insults at the Jewish boy. Never again, would Kyle try to foil his plans. He arose from the floor and headed back into the cafeteria, dumping his barely touched lunch into the bin. The threw his tray onto the pile of other trays and exited the eating area. As he headed towards his locker, someone walked past him and shoved him into the lockers. He growled and turned to look at whoever it was and was not surprised to find Stan glancing at him in disgust. Eric had intended to keep calm about the Stan situation and let the other boy cool down before he actually talked to him, but this made him boil with anger. The frustration of being treated like crap by everyone, of KNOWING he deserved it, it boiled over finally.

"What the fuck is your problem, Stan?!" he exclaimed, narrowing his eyes. Stan's tired expression morphed into one of rage, his hands twitching as if waiting to form fists.

"What's MY problem?" he asked, looking offended that Eric would even dare to voice such a question.

"I'm not the one," Stan paused and stepped closer to Eric, "who KILLED a person." Eric looked away. He felt Stan grab the front of his jacket and tug him closer.

"If this shitty school doesn't make sure you get punished for what you did, I'll make sure you will," Stan growled, a dangerous look on his face. Before the incident, Stan had been one of the most rational people Eric had known. Now, he could barely recognize the boy who had once before been an empathetic friend. He had always been the one who tried to stop Kyle from going after Eric and stopping his plans, explaining that this would be exactly what Eric would have wanted. Now, he looked like a complete emotional wreck, which he no doubt was. Eric was certain he could smell alcohol on Stan's breath. As Eric said nothing, Stan shoved him against the locker again and gave him a spiteful look, before walking off with Kenny in a deflated manner. Eric slowly moved away from the locker he was pushed into and scuttled to his next class.

 

By the end of the day, Eric was exhausted, ready to lie in bed all day and possibly cry. It was what he had been doing pretty much every day for over a month now. However, his plans were stopped once he began heading for the exit. He felt a bony hand on his shoulder and he turned around to see mister Mackey. He groaned.

"What is it?" he asked, annoyed. The old man tutted.

"Eric, we need to talk, m'kay?" Eric raised a brow.

"About?"

"Your friend Kyle," Mackey looked nervous as he approached the topic, “the one who killed himself,” he for some reason specified. Eric let out another groan.

"I don't want to fucking talk about it!" he stomped his foot, turning to glare at Mackey threateningly.

"Eric, I understand you're going through a rough time but you're required to-" he cut himself off as Eric was already leaving, "come to counselling," he mumbled. He sighed and headed back into his office, trying to figure out how to accomplish the task he had been given. This was not the first time he had been asked to counsel Eric Cartman, but it definitely was different.

 

Eric climbed into his car and was about to drive off, when he received a text from his mother. He threw back his head and groaned before grabbing his phone and reading it.

 

**Mom: Could you stop by the store? We're out of milk and oil <3**

 

He rolled his eyes and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Again, his exciting plans for the evening were postponed. He hit the gas pedal, not bothering to buckle up his seatbelt. The road ahead glistened a little, as it was slightly frozen. It was no surprise as November was already ending. He had no winter tires yet and could feel his car skidding just a little every time he breaked. Maybe he could slam down the gas pedal. It would be so easy to crash. He sped up a little, the thoughts growing.

 

_"You really need to start driving slower, fatass," muttered a pale boy whose cheeks was littered with small freckles, sounding irritated. He was staring at the car's speedometer, seeming tense._

_"What was that, jew?" the fatter boy asked, smirking as he added more speed._

_"Dude, stop!" exclaimed the boy beside him, his red hair bouncing as he turned to glare at the cackling brunette. Finally, said boy slowed down, wiping his eyes._

_"You should have seen your face, Kahl, it was hilarious!" he exclaimed, sipping coke from the plastic cup next to him. Kyle placed his face in his hand and let out a frustrated sigh, his brows furrowing ever so slightly._

_"You're gonna get yourself killed one day, asshole."_

_Eric shook his head._

_"Nuh-uh. I plan on living til 100. You're gonna be the one who'll die before me," he thought for a while, "of ginger-itis or something." He nodded, looking sure of himself. Kyle punched his arm lightly._

_"First of all, that isn't a thing. Second of all, you're probably gonna die of heart failure when you're 25."_

_It was Kyle's turn to smirk as Eric let out a loid 'OI!'._

 

Eric swiftly turned his head to the side, looking for the Jewish boy sitting there and complaining about how fast he was going. For a moment, he could almost see him there, in his white tank top, the sun lighting up his skin, reflecting off of it. His hair, for once, free from the confines of his green ushanka. It was bouncing around every time he moved his head, almost as if it was happy to be allowed freedom. The small, light freckles on his nose and cheeks somehow fit him so well, complimenting his green eyes. Back then, Eric had not questioned why Kyle had opted to wear a hoodie on top of his tank top, when it was so sunny out or why he had refused to go swimming with the other boys.

He exhaled deeply and slowed down the car. He drove into the parking lot of the closest supermarket and parked as close to the door as possible.

 

Once in the store, he found himself entering the snacks isle, carrying a carton of milk and a bottle of oil in one hand. He grabbed an extra-large packet of cheesy puffs and studied the isle for something more. He grabbed a few packets of regular Oreos and glanced at the chocolate flavoured ones. Kyle had loved them. Out of obligation, he grabbed a box of those too, staring at it for a while before placing it onto the pile on his arm. Why did every little thing have to remind him of the boy? He decided he didn’t need anything else and headed towards the cash register. The woman in line in front of him appeared similar and he squinted, observing her. As she looked to the side, his eyes widened as he saw Sheila Broflovski. She was barely recognizable. Her once before proud and confident demeanour had changed completely. Her red hair appeared to have more grey in it than ever before, it was held up in a messy bun, strands poking out from everywhere. Her shaky hands placed items onto the conveyor belt. She was dressed in a black coat, which seemed so out of character for the woman. The last time Eric had seen her, was at the funeral. He had thought she looked bad back then, but now she seemed like just a shell of a person. She glanced at Eric and froze for a moment. She forced a small smile onto her face, her eyes still sad as ever.

"Hello, Eric," she mumbled. Eric nodded.

"Hey," he spoke barely above a whisper, casting his eyes down. Neither of them dared to say anything else as Sheila paid and headed toward the exit quickly. As much as Eric hated admitting it, he missed the old Mrs. Broflovski. Seeing her this fragile and tired was draining him as well. Why had she smiled at him? Why wasn't she planning an attack on him, trying to get him into legal trouble? Why was she acting as if it hadn't been his fault?

 

He climbed back into his car, starting the engine quietly. As he drove out of the parking lot he grew sick of the silence and turned on the radio, hoping for something to at least momentarily distract him. He popped a handful of cheesy puffs into his mouth and crunched down on them as he tuned the radio to his favourite station. Staring straight ahead, he was barely paying attention to the music and grabbed another handful of cheesy puffs, not caring if his fingers got greasy and made the wheel gross to hold. He thought he recognized the music playing and raised a brow, trying to hear it above the engine.

_"Cause I'll stand beside you through the years.."_

He swiftly turned his head to the radio, eyes wide. For a moment, he almost lost his grip on the wheel in shock.

_A filled basketball stadium._

_"You'll only cry those happy tears"_

Cartman felt his breathing quicken, he tried to fumble with the radio to turn it off, but couldn't as he was fixing his eyes on the road. His greasy fingers slid off the right buttons and in his panic he turned up the volume. Fuck.

_"And though I make mistakes, I'll never break your heart"_

A pang of pain suddenly filled him, he grit his teeth and tried to focus on just the road, despite the tears welling up in his eyes, blocking his vision.

_"And I swear"_

_A megatron screen, Brad Paisley._

That was it, Eric felt food rising up.

_"by the moon and the stars in the sky"_

He steered his car to the side of the road quickly and burst out of his car, not bothering to turn ot off properly.

_"I'll be there"_

He sunk to his knees, throwing up all over the white snow, feeling a burning sensation in his throat.

_"I swear like the shadow that's by your side"_

He let out a choked sob, wiping his mouth.

 

_The red haired boy was fuming as Eric sang._

_"I'll be there for better or worse,"_

_Kyle's cheeks reddened from both anger and embarrassment._

_"Til death do us part" Eric sang as emotionally as he could. Kyle crossed his arms, sinking in his seat._

_"I'll love you with every gay beat of my heart!"_

 

Eric let out a soft cry as he sat in the snow, surrounded by his vomit while dry heaving. The painful song blared from his car, tugging at his heart while unleashing the string of painful memories connected to it. Why did the stupid station play this song? Why did he react to it like that? _Why was he like this?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not proud of this one but future chapters will be more interesting (hopefully)

His bedroom was stuffy, two transportable heaters blowing hot air into his room. He clutched the blanket around him desperately, shivering as he sipped from his steaming cup of tea. Perhaps sitting in the snow for an hour while having a breakdown was not the best idea he had had. And it was because of a _song._ His nose scrunched up a little from the bitter memory. He tore open a box of Oreos, enjoying the familiar sound of cardboard ripping, and threw one into his mouth. Biting down, he growled as he realized he had blindly opened the chocolate ones. He grabbed the box in rage, crinkling it in his large hand. He stared at it for a moment and threw it against the wall with all his might. The box fell to the door, small packets of Oreos spilling out of it. The thin box had a large dent in it now and when Eric looked at the wall closely, he noticed a small dark mark on it. He turned to pick up his cup again, for a moment staring at his hands, which were slightly red from the cold. He pressed the cup to his lips and slurped some of the drink before placing it down again to turn on his laptop, which had been on his bed, untouched, for a while. He tapped his fingers against the item as he waited impatiently. He took one last sip of his drink, before placing it on the floor by his bed.

Finally, his laptop screen lit up with the opening screen and in a matter of seconds, his pudgy fingers were typing away at the keys, entering his password. Leaning back in his bed, his back hitting his propped up pillow, he fell into his thoughts again. Distantly, he stared at the apple laptop, which he had decorated with countless stickers at this point. His lips formed a thin line when he remembered that the laptop had been a compensation from Kyle, or rather Kyle's dad. A compensation for the items he and the other boys had broken years ago. Was his laptop really that old? He felt odd, holding something he had gotten from Kyle and for a moment considered getting rid of it so his room would feel a little less stuffy with memories. It was quite old, surely he could get it replaced. Yet another part of his clung onto the item with all his might, not willing to part with it. It was one of the few things he owned which were from Kyle. He traces over the stickers, some of which were faded and scratched, edges peeling up. He stopped on one, shaped like a burger. The thin line that was his lips lifted ever so slightly, remembering the brief period of time when they had worked at Cartmanburgers. Now, more than ever he wished to reach out and run his thick fingers through the untameable jungle on Kyle's head. Would his hair feel as soft as it looked? He'd never find out, not anymore. He was too drained to fall into despair over that fact at that moment, closing his eyes for a second and exhaling.

He opened his eyes again, directing them to his desktop background. He waited for the computer to warm up a little before pressing the icon for Google Chrome. He stared as the browser slowly loaded, eventually finding himself on google. What was he looking for? He wasn't sure himself. How to deal with grief? How to forget a person? How to change the past? It was difficult for him to understand what exactly he needed. More than anything, he wanted Kyle back in his life, but surely that was impossible. What else did he want? He thought about it for a while and nothing but Kyle's freckled face popped up. He shook his head, trying to physically throw out the image, almost like a wet dog trying to shake out water from his fur. He flexed his fingers and atared at the screen again. The bright white background of Google suddenly lighting up his dark room caused him to avert his eyes for a moment. Finally, he sighed and typed the words, physically cringing and covering his eyes as he pressed enter. He felt so stupid. Who even searches that? How fucking desperate was he? He peeked at the screen from between his fingers.

_how to turn back time?_

He scanned the first few results, still feeling dumb for typing that. He read the description for the first link and groaned, getting annoyed now. Of course it was some stupid spiritual bullshit and 'relaxing' exercises telling him not to worry. That bitch didn't kill someone unintentionally! He took a deep breath and looked at the next results. Just more articles talking about how your mistakes won't matter in the future generations. As if future generations mattered to him! He was going to have to live with the weight of having killed Kyle, of killing the one person he had fun with, whether it meant making fun of him or just sitting at the park, talking. After a bit more scrolling, a few songs popped up. For fuck's sake. Robotically, he kept scrolling, soon ending up on the fifth page of results. He was about to close the tab, when he saw a link that caught his attention. He clicked the link and raised a brow as he was suddenly staring at a bright green homepage, the text being a bright red. Was this Christmas' official website? He tried to ignore the eyesore and glanced at the article.

 

**"How to turn back time"**

**We've all experienced the want, maybe even a need to turn back time. Perhaps some actions you regret? The death or injury of a loved one? Maybe even a failed exam. This article can help ease your mind and better yourself.**

 

Eric raised a brow. Was this going to be another fucking motivational guide on how to leave behind your past?

 

**Step 1: Think of what makes you want to go back in time. Picture it in full detail, every little part of it and what exactly you'd like to change. (B)**

 

Eric but his lip and did as told. He took a deep breath and imagines the empty hallway. Him, Kyle and his phone. More than anything, he wanted to stop himself from recording it, to maybe talk to Kyle after his burst of emotion?

 

**Step 2: Get an item connected to the reason you wish to go back.**

 

He raised a brow and grabbed his phone, scanning the text for further instructions, clutching the item. The phone counted, right? He still had the recording and he may or may not have listened it when he felt completely alone after the death of the curly haired boy.

**Step 3: Read the following spell out loud.**

 

Eric let the phone drop into his lap in disappointment as he read the text in his head. It was just some bullshit. What did he expect?  At least 3 sentences in the 'spell' were totally stolen off of Supernatural. He recognized a few words in Swedish. He rolled his eyes and closed the tab. What should he do? He refused to live with the guilt and memories, was that truly what he was destined to feel? Did he deserve it? Yes. Did Kyle deserve this? Definitely not. Feeling his head throb, overfilling with unwelcome thoughts and images, he slammed his laptop shut so he could at least think without the blaring light in his face.

Placing the laptop aside, he laid his head on his pillow, the weight of it sinking into it slowly. He could almost still feel the damp spots on it from the day he had found out Kyle was gone. He had clutched the item tight, staring at his wall in utter shock and confusion, before beginning to sob into the pillow, frantically digging his nails into the material. He frowned and touched it, confused for a moment when it was dry. It was almost as though past and present had begun to mix for him. He hated it. The way he could _almost_ see the other boy everywhere.

He thought back to the recording, Kyle's haunting voice echoing in his head as he did so.

_"It's not fucking easy to have a gay crush on your best friend, deal with the pressure you've been put under by your homophobic parents and want to die!"_

Under pressure from his parents? Honestly, he wasn't surprised, considering the person Kyle's mom had been just over a month ago. Had she heard the recording as well? Did she feel guilt eating away as Eric did? He figured she did, going by how miserable and dead she had looked in the store. The same woman who had lectured them on getting enough sleep and being quiet whenever they had had sleepovers at Kyle's house. The woman, to his knowledge was completely different now. That wasn't to say he himself hadn't changed. Instead of pulling pranks of people and causing chaos, he was now spending his time cooped up in his room, mourning a person he didn't even think he was friends with.

What had they been anyway? Enemies? No, they had been rivals at best and that had been years ago. For some reason, things suddenly changed when they entered sophomore year. Sure, they still pulled stupid stunts and screwed each other over. Well, Eric did and Kyle tried to stop him. Despite that, things had cooled down. They had cooled down. Suddenly, they were hanging out a lot more, just the two of them. Late nights at the cinema, bottles of beer stolen from Eric's mom, festivals. As much as the two insulted each other, they were always there for each other. Eric remembered when he had gotten his licence and invited the guys to celebrate, yet only Kyle turned up. He constantly rolled his eyes as Eric bragged about being the first to get them yet Kyle stayed. That evening the two had listened to the radio, humming along to whatever generic pop songs played. Between his trademark frowns, Kyle had allowed a few smiles to slip too. It had been a great evening. Yes, Eric did drive straight through a puddle when he saw Kyle walking on the sidewalk beside it on purpose the very next day, but that was beside the point.

Maybe they had been friends after all? _Friends don't cause each other to kill themselves_. He shook his head and allowed his eyes to close slowly, drifting off.

 

He was awoken by his mother. The woman had slowly shook him awake with her small warm hands, a worried expression carved onto he face.

"Honey?" she asked, voice quivering. Eric opened his eyes, mumbling something incomprehensible about it being early. His mother let out a soft sigh, sounding relieved.

"Honey, you fell asleep in your clothes, are you alright?" she asked, pressing her hand to his forehead gently. She frowned.

"Your forehead is hot," she compared it to hers, "you must have caught a fever." She picked up the empty cup of tea beside his bed.

"I think you should stay home today, get some rest, alright honey?" her voice was sickeningly sweet to Eric at this hour of the day. He let out a grunt of agreement.

"And please get changed into something more comfortable, I'll go make you something to eat." Before Eric could reply, she was gone. Finally, he sat up, feeling as if he had gotten hit with a truck. His head throbbed incredibly hard, it was hard to even think about anything. He stood up, stumbling and having a hard time keeping his balance as the pain was too overwhelming. He somehow managed to toss away his clothes, which landed on the floor with what seemed like loud bangs. He stumbled over to the closet, fighting to open the doors. He grabbed a pair of pyjamas and fell onto his bed with the clothes, pulling them on as he lied on it. Finally, he let out a sigh as the painful ordeal was over and he let his head gently touch his pillow, instantly pulling away as it suddenly seemed ice cold against his burning skin. He heard his mother call for him from downstairs. That breakfast was ready. As he thought of food, he felt nauseous. Still, he stood up, wavering from the dizziness. Maybe they had some aspirin downstairs. He trudged down the steps, his legs feeling weak under him.

When he finally reached the kitchen, he leaned onto the counter, trying to ease the pain in his head. Blindly, he opened a cabinet and rifled through it, finally finding the pills that would help him. He popped one in his mouth and turned on the tap, placing his cupped palm under it. He slurped the water from his palm and swallowed the pill. His mother walked into the kitchen, frowning.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently, moving closer. Eric simply nodded and sat down at the table. His mother grabbed a white plate and placed some bacon and eggs onto it from the pan, making an awful lot of noise in his opinion. He winced as the plate was placed before him. He looked at it and felt his stomach lurch. He didn't really want to eat right now. That being said, he still picked up his fork and began to take small bites, chewing as long as possible. With each time he swallowed, he felt worse. He took another bite. He felt sick. The food was rising up. He stood up quickly, causing his chair to fall over, and rushed to the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach. He groaned, memories of the previous day coming to him. He stood shakily and flushed, dragging himself out of the room after that. He decided that this was enough for now and almost crawled his way up the stairs, ignoring his mother asking him what happened.

Eric lied in bed again, his arm covering his eyes. He felt a little better, at least the aspirin had kicked in and his head was no longer pounding. However, the sudden empty space in his head, no longer being taken over by the pain decided to let back in the flood of thoughts from earlier. He needed to get Kyle back. Somehow. He had no idea how to go about it, but this was South Park and he had seen weirder shit. But what could he do? He didn't really know any place he could go, or anyone he could turn to. Maybe there was someone who could point him in the right direction? There was. She had adored science. Did she still love it? He hoped so. She had won the science competition the previous year, hadn't she? She probably still liked it. He vaguely remembered visiting a research centre with her. Maybe they could help him? That was if he could contact them and she was his only chance. But would she talk to him? Everyone he knew hated him, she had even more reason to than most. He had been a complete asshole to her. He had been an asshole to mist people he knew, but he felt with her he had pushed the limits. He had temporarily ruined her life. But perhaps she would be forgiving? Perhaps she would listen? In a way, he felt ashamed, he never asked for help. He was independent, he figured out a way on his own. But then again, that had been before he had lost Kyle. Did he seriously say _lost_? He shook his head. He couldn't even bother to insult anyone anymore, he freaked out over songs now. He was definitely too big of a mess to figure out something on his own. He needed to bring Kyle back. To ease his mind and get everyone off his back. He had never before felt so guilty for anything he had done, which was strange. Was it because he missed Kyle or because he wanted things to be normal again? He wasn't quite sure. With a shaky hand, he reached doe the turned over picture frame and stared at the photo. He wanted back the life they all lived before. The life where Kyle nagged him for everything he did, where they could sit in the park and have a full on argument about a video game, which resulted in them yelling. Every negative thing about Kyle that he saw as annoying was now endearing. His quick temper, his tendency to be morally good, his huge poof of hair.

Kyle was the smartest kid he knew. He would have gone to Harvard or Yale and would have gotten in with a full scholarship. Heck, schools would have begged to have the boy attend. But he threw it all away, just like that? He needed to bring back Kyle. Kyle deserved his bright future as a lawyer or whatever, after all the shit they had endured in their childhood. For that, he needed help. Sighing, he reached for his phone and opened it. As he typed in his password, he found himself already on Facebook, on Kyle's page. He grit his teeth. He had to man up and message the girl, he had to try. For Kyle.

He took a shaky breath and opened the messenger app. He typed his message nervously, retyping it at least 3 times before he felt he could send it.

 

  **Eric: Hey? Could you help me out?**

 

Was it rude? Would she ignore it- Seen. She had seen it. She was typing. Would she tell him to fuck off?

 

**Heidi: What is it?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! I'll try to post more often but having like 20 different hobbies gets in the way haha

The boy stood in front of the café, staring at the entrance. Feeling a cold breeze pass him, he raised his shoulders in an attempt to keep warmer. He was wearing a puffy red winter coat and a blue scarf, looking even rounder wrapped up in the clothes than usual. He took a deep breath and watched his breath form a small cloud as he exhaled. It reminded him of games played outside during the winter. Pretending to smoke, to breathe fire, all of that and more. He shook his head. He had come here with a purpose. An old café hidden between the streets. Not many people came there, which was why he had chosen the location. That and a little bit of the nostalgia that was eating him.

 

**Eric: Can we talk about it in person?**

 

The help he needed would seem absurd, even stupid if he explained it in text. He needed to see the girl in person. Of course, showing up with her at a popular coffee shop such as Tweek bros wouldn't be good. Heidi would never agree to be seen in public with him, especially after the latest incident. He remembered a small place him and Kyle had stumbled into one evening after getting caught in a blizzard. The coffee was great and after the night the two visited it every now and then, recounting memories of tossing snowballs at each other before being hit with a sudden snow storm. When he last visited it, had Kyle shown any signs of how he felt deep down? Eric wasn’t sure. Of course he had acted a little distant, but they were never really all that close friends anyway.

 He suggested the location and surprisingly, Heidi agreed to meet him.

He finally decided to get himself together and reached out, taking hold of the doorknob covered ever so slightly with rust. He turned it and pushed the wooden door open. It creaked as he did so but he ignored it, stepping inside. The entry looked old and worn, muted blue paint chipping off the walls and showing the grey wall underneath. The air seemed thick and it smelled musky, but again he ignored it and moved through the entry room, into the café itself. Despite still having an old look to it, it's red walls covered with paintings and photos left a cosy impression. He remembered whining about how gross the entry was when he first visited. A distant look in his eyes, he gazed at the paintings, sticking his hands in his pockets.

He snapped out of it as a gentle finger tapped on his shoulder. His head whipped around, causing him to find himself staring at a petite brunette. She pulled her hand away from his shoulder and awkwardly fiddled with the hem of her coat.

"You said you wanted to talk," she stated, staring into his eyes with a scrutinizing gaze. Eric gulped and nodded, feeling slightly feverish.

"Could we sit down?" he asked, cocking his head towards an empty table by the window. Heidi nodded, heading towards it and taking a seat. Eric wobbled after her, wincing as he sat down. Another headache had hit him and the commotion in the café was worsening it. The thicker air, the mixed scents of coffee and other warm drinks were clouding his head. He just wanted to hit a mute button at the moment. Taking a deep breath as he unbuttoned his coat, he finally took a look at Heidi again. Her moss green eyes were focused on him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, Eric regretted asking her for help, as their relationship had ended on rather bad terms. He placed his hat, scarf and coat beside him and coughed, attempting to break the awkward silence that had fallen upon them like a dark cloud.

"I'm sorry to bother you, it just seemed necessary to ask you in person," he began, attempting to chuckle, inly for it to fall from his mouth as a clear sign of his discomfort. He tapped his thick fingers on the table, averting his eyes from Heidi as he tried to come up with how to phrase himself without sounding ridiculous. Heidi raised a brow, leaning a little closer, almost as if to urge him to get on with it.

"I know we aren't on exactly the greatest terms and after the recent incident you have no reason to help me anyways, but you're the only one I could think of." He ran a hand through his hair. The girl nodded.

"What is it that you need help with, Eric?" she got straight to the point. Her voice was calm and controlled, but her stiff posture was a clear indicator of her discomfort. She glanced out of the window for a brief moment, eyes reflecting the passing people. Eric opened his mouth, only to close it again when no words flowed out. What was he going to say? _Hey I wanna go back in time, got any scientist buddies?_ That would sound completely insane. It _was_ completely insane.

Heidi was seeming to get inpatient, as she kept glancing around the room, occasionally casting her eyes out the window, while tapping her fingers on the table, her nails clicking against it ever so slightly. He sighed and leaned closer to the girl, who in turn shuffled backwards in her seat a little.

"You like science, right?" he asked, already knowing the answer. She got the best results in science related courses, besides Kyle, who was the best at _everything_. Heidi nodded slowly.

"Yes, why do you ask?" she counters, leaning back even more, almost as if she would rather be anywhere else. Eric pulled back as well, giving the girl more space.

"I've done a lot of things in my life," he begins, crossing his arms and leaning back. He felt even hotter, yet he ignored it again.

"Some good, some," he pauses, thinking, "bad." He places runs his hand through his hair again, feeling that his forehead was rather warm and slightly damp with sweat.  He wiped his hands on his pants, nose scrunching up.

"Do you know any scientists or something?" he asked, almost laughing at Heidi's complete confusion.

"I don't see what that has to do with anything, Eric," she furrowed her brows. Eric resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as such an action would worsen the throbbing in his head.

"Do you or don't you? It's a simple question." he stated, no real malice behind his words for once, just exhaustion. Heidi thinks for a while.

"I suppose I know a few, yes. Why?" her eyes narrowed and it was her turn to shuffle closer, finally interested in whatever Eric had to say.

"I would like to change the past." Eric whispers, finally looking Heidi in the eye.

A heavy, suffocating silence fell upon them like a thick blanket. Heidi blinked, pulling back yet again. An array of emotions flashed on her face, finally settling on complete and utter confusion.

"You," Heidi's brows furrowed, "want to change the past?" she asked, almost hoping she had heard wrong. Her expression had morphed into one of disbelief and slight annoyance. The boy nodded sheepishly.

"Eric, that's not possible-" Eric interrupted before she could finish talking.

"I know, it's not possible, it's fictional and so on," he sighed, looking tired all of a sudden.

"I don't need to hear it again. I know that," he mutters. He looked up at Heidi again, smiling bitterly.

"I still need to try. This is South Park, even less realistic things have happened in this town!" he exclaimed, eyes suddenly filling up with hope. He ignored the heads turning to look at him and focused on the girl, willing her to understand what he was thinking.

Heidi looks away, placing her hands on the table with the fingers intertwined.

"Eric?" she asked hesitantly, looking at him again. The boy nodded, urging her to continue. She shuffled in her seat uncomfortably.

"Is this about Kyle?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Eric's breath hitched and he winced, letting out a small hiss. He buried his face in his palm, gathering himself before finally giving the girl a short nod.

"I see.." she trailed off, eyes filling with sympathy for Eric. He was a complete wreck, eyes sunken in and he seemed so much less lively now that before the incident. It was almost as if he was the most affected emotionally by Kyle's death, despite having sworn that he hated him all of his life. Despite believing this would only end up as a disappointment for the large boy, she felt bad for him. Hoping that having something to do would be good for him, she decided to speak up.

"I'm not sure if they'll be of use to you," the girl starts, smiling sadly as the boy perked up ever so slightly, "but there's a research lab in the forest."

Eric nodded eagerly, "where exactly?"

Heidi pulled out her phone, ready to give the boy a way to contact an employee and directions to the lab she had been to many times for school projects.

"This is one of the scientists who helped me with multiple projects." She smiled at Eric and wrote a name and number on one of the napkins on the table.

"I'll contact him to tell you that you need help from the lab, but that's all I can do," she smiled sheepishly, "I can't guarantee they'll even listen to you."

Eric nodded, grabbing the napkin and fiddling with it.

"Yeah," he looked away, "thanks," he spoke, trying to sound bitter, but the girl's soft expression betrayed that it didn't really work.

Outside, large fluffy snowflakes began to fall from the sky, landing on the ground and forming a thin carpet. It looked beautifully soft, almost like cotton, but if one were to run their hand through it, they would surely be shocked by the sudden prickling cold flakes stabbing at their skin.

 

 

_Four sets of feet echoed against the icy pavement as the group rounded another corner. Their faces were bright and their mouths had been pulled into wide grins. White flakes poured from the sky almost like heavy rain. The boys kept running, all bundled up in winter clothes. The boy in the orange coat sped up, only to lose his balance on the slippery road. Right as he was about to tumble onto his face, his arm is grabbed by a much larger boy all dressed in red._

_Pulling away from the other, orange dusts off his coat, glaring at red, who had stuck out his tongue._

_"Thanks, fatass," orange mumbled and kept walking, glaring after the other boys who had ran off to the park already. Too cautious to run again, he walked the whole way, surprised when his companion did the same._

_"Why are you staying behind?"_

_"Maybe I wanna spend time with you?" he asked back, winking at him. Orange rolls his eyes and punches red's arm gently._

_"Stop lying, you're just too fat to run," he smirked as he felt the fatter one get worked up._

_"Ay, I'm not fat, I'm big boned!" He shoved orange, who found himself face-first in a pile of snow._

_Sputtering out snow, he wiped a freckled hand across his face, trying to uncover more of his face._

_"Cartman!" he roared, eyes shut and snow still clung to his lashes. He got up, not bothering to wipe the snow off his pants or get it out of the poof of red hair sticking out from under his hat. Cartman laughed and quickly ran off after flipping the bird._

_Angrily, orange chased him all the way to the park, where Cartman finally doubled over and gasped for air, while orange simply panted a little._

_Still angry about the previous incident, orange kicked Cartman, who was still doubled over, from behind, sending him flying into the snow after losing his balance._

_The boy stayed in the snow for longer than orange had, before emerging with a red face. He growled, baring his teeth and lunged at orange, tearing off his hat and tossing it on the ground. That resulted in orange yelling at him, a favour which he gladly returned._

_On the bench nearby, a boy in blue and one in all orange sat, laughing at the comedic sight which they were all to used to. As orange turned to look at his cackling friend, his released curls flying as he turned his head, Cartman took the chance to scoop snow in to the green ushanka and shove it on Kyle's head. It was followed with a furious cry and a punch square in his face, but the shocked expression on orange had been absolutely worth it. Feeling as though the punch had not been enough, orange tackled him and scooped up snow with his bare hands, ignoring the redness of them, and shoved it into the collar of Cartman’s coat. The fat boy writhed and cussed, before he finally managed to shake off the boy and held him down as he stuffed a handful of snow under the boy’s shirt. The commotion continued for a while, until the two found themselves laid on the snow, clothes soaked and their chests heaving._

_“I hate you,” orange laughed, covering his eyes with his arm. Red laughed with him, weakly tossing some snow onto the boy beside him._

_“Not as much as I hate you!” he smirked. Orange rolled his eyes and sat up, running his bony bare fingers through his hair, trying to get out clumps of snow. The knuckles were red and his hands were turning the same hue, as he had no gloves on. His thin lips were turning a slight shade of blue and he was shivering ever so slightly._

_“My mom is gonna kill me for this, you know that, right?” he asked red, cocking his head towards him. Red sat up and shrugged._

_“Your mom is a psycho. I wouldn’t put it past her.” He received a punch on his arm, although the force of it was mostly stopped by his thick jacket._

_Orange pushed himself up and dusted off as much snow as he could, before holding out a hand towards Cartman._

_“Yeah, not gonna trust a Jew to help me, Kyle,” he stated and pushed himself up as well, albeit with a lot more trouble than the skinnier boy had._

 

A lonely set of heavy footsteps echoed against the icy pavement as the young man rounded the corner. His eyes were cast down, dark bags carved under them. His mouth was pressed into a thin line as he stared at the snow-covered pavement, deep in his thoughts. White flakes poured from the sky almost like heavy rain, which Eric thought would match the situation better. He finally looked up, glancing at the park across the road. Memories of the snow battles he had held with his friends surfaced and he couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. He glanced behind him, almost expecting to see four children speeding past him, holding no regard for the fact that they could fall - all that mattered was the feeling of soft flakes on their warm faces and the chilly wind running its fingers through their hair. All he was greeted with was an empty street hidden under a layer of white. Shaking his head, he kept walking; eyes glued to piles of snow for a little too long whenever he passed them. Perhaps one day the four of them could run through the snow clad streets yet again, mouths pulled into wide grins.

Eric had a lot of work to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, here's my art tumblr, where I post a LOT of south park stuff: https://pastafearfactory.tumblr.com/

He stared at the phone on the corner of his worn desk, hand itching to pick it up, hovering above it for a second before pulling it back, again. It had been a day since Heidi had given him the contact and now all he could do was stare at his phone, too much of a pussy to actually pick it up and call them.

He wanted to get Kyle back.

Why didn't he?

He wasn't sure. Maybe because he still hadn't come up with anything to say. Even after a night of writhing in bed on his crumpled sheets, nothing came to mind. No one - no one would take him seriously if he actually asked for what he wanted, so what was he to do?

In any other case, ever since he was a child, he would have had everything figured out, yet now, the mind of a master manipulator was just a grey soggy mess with occasional flashes of red curls. He growled and tangled his pudgy fingers in his hair, tearing at it angrily.

"Dammit, think, you fucktard!" he exclaimed, targeting the words at himself in hopes they'd pierce through his brain and release a flood of thoughts. They did not.

He glanced over at the stack of note- and textbooks sprawled out on the floor, eyes landing on his physics textbook, the corners of which were practically shredded-

That was it!

He lit up and rushed over to the item, shoving away other items and clutched the battered object in his hand. He flipped through the pages, jittering and barely paying attention to the contents of the book. This was his key to the lab.

Standing up, he took long strides towards the desk and set down the item, before picking up his phone, the screen of which had many new scrapes. Perhaps throwing it around constantly hadn't been the best idea.

He coughed to clear his throat, which all of the sudden was becoming clogged up with the insecurity in him. Nodding, he opened up his contacts list and dialled the number he had been dreading contacting. The phone rang threateningly, offering him a chance to back out of it; to hang up-

The call was answered.

"This is Miranda Waters speaking, who is this?" a sharp voice asks, sounding almost robotic in how rehearsed it sounded.

The boy gulped.

"Yes, hello," he ran his hand through his hair, biting his lip briefly. Before the woman could ask anything, he coughed and spoke again: "I'm Eric Cartman."

The woman on the other side was silent, undoubtedly raising her brow and awaiting a follow-up. One that he provided quickly, blushing ever so slightly out of embarrassment.

"I'm calling as I was informed you work for the South Park laboratory," he spoke, trying to sound sophisticated and elegant, hoping such an attitude would get him where he wanted.

It did.

"Ah, yes, that I do," the woman quickly replied, easing up. Eric's methods truly never failed him. He smirked.

"I'm a senior in South Park High and I was given am assignement in physics. I need to visit an actual lab to write a report on a more specific topic," he taps his fingers on the cover of the textbook gently, " I thought to myself, what place could possibly be better than our very own one here in South Park! Nothing, I tell you."

The woman on the other end let out a soft exhale of amusement. The sound of a mouse scrolling and clicking could be heard. Then, the woman's muffled voice asked someone something, answered by the muffled voice of a man.

"Are you still there?" the woman finally asked stopping her scrolling. Eric nodded; mentally face palming as soon as he realized this was a phone call.

"Yep, I'm all ears~" he purred into the phone and fell into his worn desk chair, the fabric that was covering it had patches of it that had been torn away and the sickly yellow stuffing showed underneath. He slouched, resting his back against the janky backrest, placing his feet up on the desk after doing so. The edge of the desk dug into the skin on his legs, but due to the amount of fat he had there and the worn down nature of the desk, he barely felt it anymore.

"We could give you a tour on Friday, how does that sound?" the woman asked, sounding friendly.

"That would be great! What time should I be there?" Eric inquired, beginning to play with the strings of his hoodie, twisting them around his fingers as he was used to doing to people.

"We could start it around four; I'd advise you to be there a little earlier though. I'll be the one to guide you, so you should recognize me, at least by the name tag," the woman chuckled nervously.

"Wow! Your lab is so kewl!" he exclaimed, "you're giving me a private tour, most labs wouldn't do that!" He cringed mentally at the words, not giving a shit what the lab did or didn't do.

"We pride ourselves in coming through for students interested in scientific fields," the woman sighed happily.

"I'm sure all the other students will regret not picking you after I tell them how great you are!" he grimaced,  glad this was simply a phone call. He wasn't in the mood to replicate happy body language.

"We'd greatly appreciate you advertising us a little! However, I must go now, I expect to see you on Friday, Mr. Cartman," the sounds of scrolling are present again.

Eric smiled faintly: "I'll be there, Miranda!"

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto his desk, letting out a loud sigh of relief, followed by a nervous laugh. On Friday he could march into the lab, go back in time, rescue Kyle and save the day.

Of course, there were a few obstacles he had to consider, such as: did they have a time travel method that worked in the lab? The fact that a method was being worked on was obvious, what proper laboratory wouldn't try to tap into the most anticipated thing in the world? However, weather that machine worked was another topic. All he could do at this point was hope it did.

 

The last soft rays of the sun caressed the mountaintops, making the snow glow in a pale orange hue. The sky faded from pinks to yellows, tainting the clouds swimming in it in similar hues. The very last, strained rays managed to shine past the mountains and fall upon the boy's sickly face. For once, thanks to the light his face seemed warm and alive, as he sat by his window, in his barely held together desk chair that he had wheeled over, ignoring the ear scraping noise it had made when being dragged along the floor, it's wheels barely moving. His large arms rested on the ledge, crossed in a relaxed manner. The setting sun reminded him of many other things that ended, but this time it also gave him hope, as every setting sun would rise again in the morning and begin a new story. Perhaps the next time he admired the warmth disappear behind those mountain tops he'd wake up the following morning with a clean slate. He nodded, barely noticing the action as he hoped for such a future.

The boy stared vacantly as the last light finally sunk behind the towers of darkness and closed his eyes, resting his head on his arms. Just as the sun had faded into darkness, he could feel his thoughts slipping from him, replaced by foggy images flowing in their place- an endless river of images, people, animals and scenes he had witnessed throughout his 18 years of life. He stood in the river, glancing at the images floating past him in confusion. As he inspected them closer, he could detect a red tone on the majority of them, dominating the sights of the green and white of the town. He ran his fingers through the water gently and let out a soft sigh when the water almost turned into red curls, cascading down the forehead of a boy, who was suddenly sitting opposite him underneath a tree on a large hill.

He found himself brushing the hair aside, staring into the freckle-covered slightly tan face of another boy. The boy's green eyes were focused on something in the distance and a small smile played on his lips, faint like a warm breeze on a summer evening, one very much like one that very instant. Eric's fingers lingered in the hair for a moment, as he stared at the face he missed so much, before slowly removing them, continuing to stare at the other as if he were a canvas that he had just removed the brush from, having pulled his last stroke. With that, the image appeared to freeze in time and was suddenly fading away, into the ever deepening river again. The water which had just been to his mid-shins earlier was now mid-thigh, but it had no feeling of water to it. It resembled a warm blanket more than anything, warping around his body in a comforting manner and assuring him things would get better after a full night of rest.

 

When the boy opened his eyes, he found himself shutting them immediately as he was met with the bright sky shining through his window. He cursed under his breath and sat up straight in his chair, wincing as his whole body felt heavy and sore from the unnatural pose he had been in. As he stretched his arms above him, trying to regain feeling in them, he felt something slip off his shoulders and heard it land on the floor with a soft thud, which seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet house. He cast his eyes down and his brows furrowed in confusion as he was met with a baby blue fleece blanket. Picking it up gently, he investigated it. He sighed and held it against his face, feeling slight comfort in it. His mother had most likely seen him asleep and decide not to wake him, placing a blanket over him instead. It wouldn't be the first time such a situation occurred in their house.

He balled the item up and tossed it onto his bed, taking hold of the window ledge gently after doing so. Carefully, he pulled himself up and steadied himself, feeling his feet wobble like the ones of a child atill learning to walk on his undeveloped legs. After a few moments, he dared to let go and stumbled away from the blaring light coming from the window, stopping before the mirror attached to his closet door. He felt his nose scrunch at the mess before him and raised his arm, taking a sniff. With a grimace, he set down his arm and quickly tossed off his shirt, heading towards the bathroom, dirty shirt in hand. He tossed the sweaty item of clothing into the laundry bin. The shirt was soon followed by the rest of his clothes as he stepped into the shower, shuddering a little as his bare skin was sliced with the cool air, causing goosebumps to bleed out from his smooth skin.

 

Eric walked into school that morning, feeling refreshed. He still lightly smelled like apricots- something he owed to his shampoo, and his hair was combed and shiny. He had taken some effort in getting dressed that day, wearing clean black jeans and a white button-up shirt. Today, he finally had the chance to change things. The mere idea of being able to see Kyle again, of having the four of them being close again, made him step more freely and confidently. He'd have to skip last period, to make it to his destination in time, he had realized, the lesson ironically being physics. Surely, taking an independent 'field trip' would be much more informative than another 45 minutes spent sleeping in class.

He shut his locker gently and pulled out his phone, checking the time. 12:10. Only three more hours in hell before he had to make his escape. He noticed a flood of students pushing and shoving each other as they raced to reach the cafeteria. He would have joined them as well, but instead of hunger, anticipation dwelled in his stomach, making it impossible for him to even consider eating anything. Instead, he headed towards his next class, seating himself in the hallway- in front of it. He sighed and took out his phone, staring at the time with a vacant smile on his face. He ignored the sounds of footsteps approaching and opened twitter. He did look up though, when the feet stopped in front of him and a foot nudged his leg.

He was met with the face of a disgusted black haired boy, glaring down at him.

"What the fuck are you smiling about you, fatass?" Stan asked, sounding distant yet furious, not believing the boy had a nerve to feel joy after what he had done.

Eric slowly stood up, frowning.

"Why does it matter?" he replied, displaying no emotion. Stan narrowed his eyes and stepped closer, clenching his fists. His hot breath was hitting Eric's face and he winced as he detected the scent of cheap beer. Great. The young man had turned up to school drunk. Drunken Stan was the hardest person to communicate with.

"It matters because when I find out, I can take it away from you and destroy it, just like what you did, asshole," he growled under his breath. Eric raised his arms in defense.

"Stan, chill."

The boy's anger seemed to be fuelled by the comment and his bony fingers latched onto the front of Eric's shirt, creasing it.

"Chill?" he asked, a laugh of disbelief escaping his lips, "how can I 'chill', when you're sat here, all proud of yourself after _killing_ someone?!" he exclaimed, slamming Eric's back against the wall. The larger one let out a small grunt as air was knocked out of his lungs.

"Stan, wait!" he pleaded, as he saw him raising his free hand, ready to punch.

"What?" Stan spat, raising a brow.

"I know you're upset about Kyle, everyone is! I am too!" he began, sighing when Stan's raised fist didn't even waver.

"I can bring him back, Stan, trust me!" he exclaimed; staring into Stan's glazed over blue orbs.

 

He never expected the the fist, which landed straight in his left eye socket. He cursed loudly as his vision in the eye was suddenly lost momentarily. The left side of his face stung painfully and he could feel the skin around his eye swelling up, definitely leaving a nasty sight.

"What the _fuck_ , Stan?!" he exclaimed, shoving the boy he had once proudly called a friend away from him, hand quickly cupping his eye.

"Shit!" he cursed as the pain was clearly not even close to leaving.

"Are you delusional, Eric?!" a loud yell rang through the hallway, the sound ripping free from Stan's throat, his voice becoming hoarse halfway through the question.

"No, Stan-" he was interrupted by his companion, who pulled him forward by his shirt, creasing it even more.

"You can't bring back someone who's dead, retard!" Stan angrily muttered, spit flying as he ranted.

"Take responsibility for your actions for once!"

Suddenly, Eric was lying on the ground, finding himself unable to breathe.

Stan was straddling him, his shaky hands on Eric's neck, the uneven nails scraping at it, almost as if intending to claw out his throat. The brunette let out a few confused noises, before grabbing the tipsy male's wrists and pulling them away, albeit with a lot of effort. He took the opportunity and shoved the taller, yet lighter boy off, quickly scrambling to his feet after doing so to prevent the incident from repeating.

When the bell finally rang, Stan dragged himself up, still shaking. He turned to look at Eric, hatred brewing in his eyes before spitting in his direction and heading towards his class.

Eric looked down at his shirt, which was now wrinkled and dirty. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, immediately wincing as his hand brushed against his eye, which was still swollen. Realizing this was not exactly the look of an intelligent student doing a physics project, he headed for the exit. It wasn't as if anyone would care if he missed most of the day or not- in fact most people preferred him gone.

 

Cursing Stan, and the school, he sat on his kitchen counter, shirtless and holding an ice pack over his eye. The scene almost reminded him of something out of a movie, the moment when the trashy action hero sits somewhere and stitches up his wounds, hissing and gritting his teeth, although admittedly less badass. He was sat on a clean, smooth counter, in a well decorated and well stocked kitchen, the full sunlight of noon shining in through his not broken window, instead of some cave or run down building, where the only light peeked through cracks on the walls and roof.

The only proof of his great action packed fight were his swollen eye, a few red lines on his neck and a button up shirt laid on his lap, a few brownish-red specs on the collar.

He didn't particularly worry about the appearance of his clothes - he could easily get changed and his neck would be easy to cover up, but now he was praying the swelling would go down in the next two hours, so he could fix himself up. 'Did Stan need to ruin everything?' He found himself asking, but immediately shot it down. **_You_** _ruined everything._ His mind echoed, yet again reminding him of his sins.

He kept the ice bag on his eye as he finally hopped off the counter, dragging himself up to his room to get a new shirt. On his way to the closet, he glanced at the electronic alarm clock beside his bed and exhaled a small sigh of relief, which seemed to lift off the heavy pressure in his cheat at least a little.

In a little more than three hours, he might finally be able fix the emotional hellhole he had dug for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long with this one! Anyway things should be getting interesting soon :D


	6. Chapter 6

The sterile white walls of the lobby stared at him, the completely empty walls almost reminding him of a hospital. He gagged at the thought and cast his gaze down onto the smooth, reflective tiles coating the floor, almost like a black lake among the forest of white. He saw himself on the surface of the tiles, and sneered at the sight, wincing soon after doing so.  
He looked better than before, the swelling around his eye had gone down a little and he had managed to coat the ugly splotches of blue and red with concealer well enough, but the skin was still slightly bumpy and ever so slightly covered his eye on the lower area. He had somehow found another white button up in the back of his closet, but upon closer inspection he felt like burning the item. He had worn that particular shirt at Kyle's funeral. As he had managed to find no other decent shirts, however, he had been forced to wear it, if he were to pull off the look of a naïve science nerd. He had run the comb through his hair dozens of time, hoping to pull out the repeating thoughts among with the few clumps of his hair, the colour of which reminded him so much of the watery and milk infested coffee he would pour down his throat every morning, while sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone while his mind lingered elsewhere. Had there ever been a time when mornings hadn't been that depressing?  
The only times he could remember were in the distant past, when he and his friends could stay up all night and pillow fight or play video games in the morning, exclaiming insults and bursting with laughter. Maybe he had even felt content when he had sat at the Black residency's balcony, sipping some alcoholic beverage while discussing- no arguing about the latest episode of some stupid TV show with Kyle. They were both hungover, they were both exhausted, but that little flicker of daily conflict had kept him composed.  
He was yanked from his thoughts by the sound of heels clicking against that glassy floor, ringing through the almost empty area ominously.  
"Eric Cartman?" a woman asks and the boy looks up, nodding before sitting up, suppressing the slight prickle of discomfort in his back, no doubt from his adventures at school.  
"That would be me, I assume you're Miranda?" he inquired, bowing shortly and flashing her a charming smile.  
She nodded gently and motioned for him to follow her as she began walking. Eric did so, casting his eyes around the hallway, searching for anything that could help him. All he could see were awards and other worthless framed papers, the only decoration in the disgustingly claustrophobic hallway so far.

The pair reached the end of the hallway, where they were faced with a metal door with no indication of what they would find on the other side. Miranda fished out a card from her pocket, holding it against a small sensor for a moment before a slightly audible beep pierced through the silence, swiftly followed by a soft click from the door, echoing through the hall like a whisper in the night. Metal scraped against metal, much louder than the noises before and the door began inching open slowly.  
The two stood in silence, staring at the slowly widening opening with crossed arms and impatient scowls. Something about Miranda's defeated face told Eric this was a normal occasion in the building.  
Finally, the door opened fully and the woman walked in, not stopping to wait for Eric, who ended up being forced to jog up to her. She glanced at him and gave him a short smile as they walked through a much darker hallway, the walls of which appeared to be made of chipped, dusty bricks. Eric eyed them in confusion, taken aback by the contrast between that and the sterile white area before that.  
"We haven't gotten around to renovating this yet," the woman explained as his confused expression caught her eye. Eric nodded, eyes trailing the bricks, briefly focusing on the individual nicks and cracks each of them had.  
They reached a staircase, each step made of not so sturdy looking metal and Eric bit back an annoyed groan. More walking? How many unnecessary hallways and staircases did this place have?  
They began descending, the woman taking small and careful steps, afraid a single mistake could cause the heels under her to fail. Eric was less elegant, stomping after her and causing the sound of metal meeting with his feet to echo throughout the whole hallway.  
The way down was long and bothersome. The spiral staircase was suffocatingly lacking space and the steps were ever so slightly wet, making his footing fail occasionally. Upon finally reaching the bottom, he was panting but let out a relieved sigh. The walls had transitioned into the smooth white surface again and Eric found himself screwing his eyes shut, hissing as the sudden brightness stabbed at his eyes.  
He followed his guide as she began leading him down a brightly lit hallway again, pointing at doors and explaining the contents of them. A couple of times they even peeked into them and Eric had to admit, science in this form was pretty damn cool.  
Eventually, they reached a large open space with multiple whiteboards and desks scattered everywhere, men and women dressed in white bustling around and shuffling through papers. Many whiteboards were filled with endless numbers and nonsensical symbols, causing Eric to avert his gaze to avoid dizziness.  
Miranda ushered him into the area instead of allowing him to simply stand and stare and begun leading him to different groups, where people introduced multiple projects they were working on, but the boy had to admit he barely understood a word of their scientific mumbo-jumbo and had to resort to simply nodding his head with a knowledgeable expression as they spoke.  
Eventually, they reached a small group, where a man in his mid-twenties was proudly expressing his progress.  
"Mr. Jaques, do you mind us interrupting?" Miranda asked, a bashful smile crawling onto her face and melting the previous composed mask.  
"I don't mind at all, what is it?" the male eagerly asked and Eric could almost feel his eyes roll to the back of his head as he saw the two drooling over each other.  
"I'm giving this young man a tour, I was wondering if you could briefly inform him about your project," she smiled, "after all it is the most exquisite one here," she added, shyly looking up at him.  
God, what had happened to the composed woman on the phone?  
"Oh, gladly!" the man exclaimed and picked up a binder from the table next to him, flipping through it until he landed on his desired page.  
"I'm working on a study of time paradoxes, wormholes and mechanics," the man began, pointing at messy graphs in his binder.  
Bingo. As soon as he heard the word 'time', Eric was sure he had hit jackpot.  
"Oh really?" Eric inquired, leaning in and trying to convey as much interest as possible. "What exactly does that mean?"  
The man chuckled.  
"It's difficult to explain… I suppose I'd call it the research of time, maybe?" his eyes darted to his companions for any backup.  
Eric suppressed his joy under a layer of casual interest.  
"So…basically time travel?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager.  
Mr. Jaques laughed.  
"You could call it that, yes."  
"Is it actually possible then?" the boy challenged and felt the corner of his lip lift into a small smirk as he saw a glint of excitement in the older man's eyes.  
"Well," the man paused, seeming to be attempting to gather the right words to say, "it's complicated."  
"I'm all ears," Eric purred, "I actually hoped to mention the possibility of it in my paper, but there's no official info out there that I could really use."  
"I'll leave you boys to it!" Miranda chimed in, before rushing towards the door, a phone in her hand and a small stack of papers in the other.  
"Follow me," Mr. Jaques smiled at the boy as he headed towards another area, twiddling with a bundle of keys. "I'll show you some of our progress in the lab," he explained.  
Perfect.  
He was led into a room reminiscent of the chemistry labs at school, gently smelling of cleaning supplies. A few people were working in small groups and Eric attempted peeking at their projects as they passed, only to see more stacks of paper he had no interest in.  
Finally, the man stopped at a desk in the corner and pulled out a different binder from one of the drawers, beginning to explain different aspects of time and the possibility of moving through it. Eric felt himself zone out completely and stared blankly at the paper.  
As he began talking in a strange language that Eric could barely understand, he cut in.  
"Do you have any actual progress? Other than in theory?" he asked  
The man stares at him, eyebrows raised in a surprised manner. He straightens his back in a defensive manner, before nodding curtly and motioning for Eric to follow him. The brunette sticks his hands in his pocket and follows with a relaxed stride, a smile playing on his dry lips.  
He is led into a windowless room protected by a heavy, metal door. Jaques slid a key car against a reader and the door opened, a gust of chilly air hitting the two as it did. The room was plain and white, much like the others. The room only had a desk, a cupboard and a strange rectangular chunk of metal in it, causing the room to seem lifeless and barren.  
The man closes the door behind him and points at the strange metal box.  
"That," he smiles proudly, "is our progress."  
The brunette raised a brow and approached the box, his heavy steps echoing especially loud in the almost empty room. He touched then smooth, silvery surface, the coolness of which caused his hand to flinch away in instinct.  
"This?" he asked, looking back at Mr. Jaques and sounding slightly unimpressed. Said man nodded and quickly made his way over as well, a knowing grin on his face and the tails of his unbuttoned lab coat flapping behind him. His bony fingers fiddle with a latch on the tall booth-like item, reminding Eric of old sheds next to old houses, barely secured by a singular tiny latch.  
This one is much was much like those latches, looking insecure and useless, not to mention ancient.  
"Looks like the peak of technology," he mused as he observed the action.  
"It's hard to fund a prototype and make it look decent," the man chuckled and began to pry open the heavy metal door, which creaked and made a horrifying scratching noise as the door was dragged across the tiled floor.  
Eric wasted no time and peeked into the box, his interest peaked. The inside looked small and cramped, and a part of one of the walls was covered in strange, almost stereotypical buttons. He bit his cheek to hold in any sarcastic comments.  
"Wow!" he exclaimed, trying his best to sound sincere. "Does it actually, you know…" he trailed off, "work?"  
The man tensed a little, "in theory, yes," he began, not giving a straight answer and averting his eyes to focus on a section of the booth.  
"But like, in practice?" the brunette inquired, raising a brow and turning his gaze to the man. Said man shifted under Eric's piercing gaze, struggling to haul out a legible explanation out of his head.  
"We've never gotten to test it on anything alive," the man's brows knitted together in a frustrated manner.  
"So you've tested it on a toilet paper roll or something? How does that play out?" The frustrated sigh that escaped the man after that was so worth sabotaging his mission.  
"We know it should work in theory, but as big of an accomplishment as time travel would be- it is too dangerous of an idea to test on living creatures. The lab won't support it, so here it stands." He pats the metal block with an unreadable expression. Disappointment? Anger? Something like that.  
An idea became to submerge in Eric's head.  
"What would you do if you had a willing subject to test it?" The question was innocent enough. His hands behind his back, smiling sweetly at the scientist.  
He stumbled over his words, not sure what to say.  
"Well, there are…legal issues with human testing-"  
"Make a contract. Will anyone care about legal problems when you've created a time machine?" Eric spoke with a false sweetness, knowing it'd get to him sooner or later. After all, Eric knew people and he knew people well.  
The corner of Mr. Jaques' lips twitched upwards at the idea as he gazed at the metal box and the brunette knew he had hit jackpot.  
"You're right." The man's smile widened.  
"I'm right a lot," he smirked, crossing his arms again.  
"Now to find a candidate…" he mumbled, dashing to the desk and beginning to rummage through papers in its drawers. This was Eric's moment.  
"Hey Mr. Jaques?" he asked, following him to the desk.  
"Hm?"  
"Why bother looking, when you have one right here?"  
The man's head snapped up.  
"You? Are you sure?" he was concerned, yes, but the urge to test his work was clear in his eyes. Eric chuckled.  
"Of course, my man!" He pat the scientist's shoulder. "After all, being part of improving science is one of the greatest achievements one can accomplish, right?"  
The older man was almost shaking with excitement.  
"Yes! You're right." He dropped the papers back into the drawer. He pointed at the chair by the desk, heading for the door. "You sit and wait there, I'll be right back!"  
With that, he had slipped out of the room.

Eric sat on the chair, leaning back with a smug expression. He had done it. He was so close to redeeming himself now. Hopefully, the machine would work and not disappoint him. He didn't plan on wasting precious time on experiments that wouldn't work. He shook his head. This had to work. Even Mr. Jaques was sure of it.  
Soon enough, the man himself walked back in, carrying a few sheets of paper. He tossed them onto the table and pulled out a pen from his pocket. Damn scientists with their pens.  
"Eric…Cartman, yes?"  
Eric nodded.  
"You are of legal age, aren't you?"  
He nodded again. "Turned 18 this summer."  
"Great! Then I suggest you go over the contract and sign down there," he explained, pointing at the bottom of the last page.  
Eric hummed in agreement and let his eyes run over the words briefly, before scribbling his signature. He handed over the papers, heart pounding and hands shaking. Soon.  
The man nodded proudly and motioned for him to follow him as he made his way over to the booth. He hooks his fingers behind the door and pulled it open. Making a motion with his hand, he asked Eric to step inside. The brunette looked at the contents again, unsure if he could fit in the tiny container. With a small inhale, he sucked in his stomach a little and stepped inside. He fit, but his shoulder was pressed against the side of the booth uncomfortably, not being quite wide enough.  
Mr. Jaques motioned towards the innumerable buttons and controls.  
"Press here," he points at a blue switch which Eric had barely noticed among the others earlier, "to set your date and time." Eric nods, repeating the date of Kyle's death in his head frantically. The older man introduced a few other commands to the boy, before finally showing him how to actually get it to work.  
"Finally…" he sighed, "be careful. As I said, it hasn't really been tested, so it could be dangerous." Eric smirked.  
"Danger is my middle name."  
Jaques let out an anxious chuckle. "You need to promise not to make any drastic changes to the timeline. Do not change anything significant." He looked Eric in the eyes, sounding serious.  
"Don't worry, doc. I won't start world war 3."  
Kyle was significant. He shook the thought out of his head. He was certain that saving Kyle could only have positive outcomes.  
Was he truly saving him or just trying to ease his guilt?

"Make sure to let me know how it goes, right?" Mr. Jaques gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.  
"Sure!"  
Not.

The man gave him a few other pointers, before shutting the door, leaving Eric alone in the dimly lit booth. He reached out with a shaky hand and set the date.  
Exactly a week before the incident. He could do this. He took in a deep breath, before pressing the button.  
The world around him shook. He could feel bile rising up in his throat and cupped his hand over his mouth on instinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for taking literally...months to finish this chapter. I've worked on it on and off, but I had almost no motivation to continue at that point. I'm slowly getting back out of my creative block though, so hopefully updates will be more frequent! Next chapter will be a bit more exciting ;)


	7. Chapter 7

The journey didn't last long. Soon enough, the world around him and ground beneath him had become stable again. As soon as he was sure it was safe, he fumbled with the door, trying to open it with one hand as the other cupped his mouth. The door burst open and he surged forward, out of the small oppressive booth. Without taking a closer look at his surroundings, he fell to his knees and removed his hand in time as he retched, his lunch and breakfast disappearing from the contents of his stomach.

"Fuck," he mumbled as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, staring at the pool of vomit in distaste. Looking away, he shakily stood up and moved away from the pool, finally taking a look around him for the first time since arriving.

He was surprised to find himself in the middle of the woods, not a single soul in sight. It was odd that the machine had changed his location as well, but he shrugged it off. _Time travel logic._

Finally, his objective came to mind again and in an almost panicked manner, he patted his pockets for his phone, pulling the object out of his back pocket with a shaky hand.

_Did it work?_

He bit the inside of his cheek in anticipation as he turned on his phone, praying not to be disappointed.

His lips parted as his eyes snapped to the date.

A confused, desperate laugh escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, unable to keep a grin from forming on his face.

_He had done it._

_This meant Kyle was alive._

A warm feeling evaded his chest as the weight was lifted off of it. For the first time in what seemed like years he could breathe.

Relief.

Happiness.

Just as easily as the joy had come, it halted in its tracks and a heavy feeling if dread washed over him. Was Kyle really alive? He had no proof of it.

 _Don't be silly, he has to be._ He attempted reassuring himself, but the suppressing weight was returning, causing his breathing to quicken.

He had to make sure.

 

Decisively, he slammed the door of the booth shut and turned his gaze to his phone again.

"Now to find out where the fuck I am," he said to himself, opening up the GPS app, hoping his internet would work in the woods. He was surprised to find out it did.

With that, he allowed it to search for his location and direct him home.

Luckily, he hadn't ended up somewhere in France or something and was indeed in the forest near South Park. He wasn't exactly pleased to find out how many miles he'd need to walk to make his way back, but figured postponing it would do no good.

Besides, he was hungry again.

 

An hour later, he finally stumbled through the last patch of trees, now greeted with the brightness of the sun and open space. His legs almost failed him and he was panting heavily, but he had made it. He could see his house from the distance and doubled over, catching his breath.

"Fuck yeah," he managed to get out between heavy breaths. He hadn't gotten lost somehow.

Shakily, he stumbled down the small slope of the hill, eyes scanning his surroundings. He focused his eyes on the road ahead, his new objective being going over to Kyle's house to check on him. The weather was chilly, as was common during the mornings, but that made it no less enjoyable for the boy clad in simply jeans, shirt and a thin coat. He forced his feet to move faster as the breeze intrusively cut through his clothing.

The streets around him finally felt like home again and his eyes moved from house to house as if seeing them for the first time again. The corners he and the others had rounded while playing tag, the bushes and trees they hid in during hide-and-seek, the houses they had egged and thrown toilet paper at in their youth - it all felt so surreal and welcoming again and not even he could deny it.

 

He stopped in front of the dark green house he had stood before so many times, but this was the first time he felt hesitant about approaching it. In his youth, dashing into it thoughtlessly had been so...normal. Previously, after the incident, he had rushed past it as fast as possible, the thought of going over not even crossing his mind.

He took a deep breath

He stepped forward and made his way up the steps to the porch. He could do it.

A shaky hand reached out and rang the doorbell, praying that he wouldn't be greeted by a grieving mother or furious brother.

He waited, nothing in the house stirring after he did. He pressed it again. Were they asleep? Did they hear it?

Hid thoughts were interrupted by the door being yanked open.

 

The world around Eric Cartman came crashing down and then built itself back up, into a wonderful paradise-like kingdom in one millisecond. His hands began to shake and he felt his knees weakening, almost as if ready to buckle and let him collapse onto them. This was arguably the most relieving moment of his life, he had to admit to himself.

 

He stood in the doorway, leaning against it with his pale arms crossed. The crimson curls he often kept ina ponytail, were loosely cascading from his heads, the tips brushing against and past his bony shoulders, almost like red droplets of rain running down his skin. He was wearing a light grey tank top and loose dark grey shorts, the clothes most likely doubling as his pajamas. His thighs were exposed and tiny explosions of faint firework-like freckles covered them as they did on the rest of his body, adding a somewhat endearing feature to his lanky and bony frame. He was tense and the hairs on his arms and legs were raised from the cold breeze that cut through his thin clothing.

 

"What do you want?" his voice broke through the brief silence they shared and Eric's eyes snapped up to his face. Kyle looked pale and tired. For some reason, he had looked so much more lively in Eric's recent memories of him. There were dark bags under his eyes and his face was a little sunken in, but he couldn't help but focus on his ever piercing green eyes.

 

Eric snapped out of his thoughts as Kyle shifted a little, raising an eyebrow.

He stumbled to find words.

"Maybe I just wanted to visit my favourite jew?" he asked, trying to sound teasing, but the strain in his voice was there. His eyes dart to Kyle's, hoping his slip-up hadn't been noticeable. Going by the boy's annoyed and tired expression, it hadn't.

"Eric, its 6 am. What the fuck do you want? You have 10 seconds before I slam the door in your face."

"Wait, wait!" he exclaims, scrambling for words. "Mind if I come in?" he asks, mind racing for an explanation.

 

_Oh hey you've been dead for a month so I came to see if I managed to bring you back._

 

Kyle sighed. "It's _6_ am. My parents are asleep." He sounded annoyed, but stepped aside, rolling his eyes. "Make it quick."

Eric gave him an over exaggerated grin and walked inside, heading for the kitchen as Kyle quietly shut the door and followed.

 

The soft creaking of the boards as the larger boy moved through the house accompanied by the faint patter of Kyle's bare feet echoed through the house. Kyle approached the kitchen counter and leaved into it, facing Eric with his arms crossed.

"So. Why are you here?" he questions again, sounding more tired than annoyed now.

Eric stood in the middle if the dim kitchen awkwardly, eyes darting almost as if trying to buy time.

 

"I, uh, came to ask if you did the geography homework!" he finally scrambled together a weak excuse. Kyle wasn't convinced.

"At 6 am."

Eric nodded sheepishly.

"On a Saturday."

Another nod.

"Eric," he sounded almost as if in disbelief.

"Yes..?"

"You have a phone. For a reason."

He gulped.

"Yes, but you see..." he took a deep breath to summon his convincing persona and gave Kyle a smug smile.

"If I hadn't come over, you might have just ignored my calls and texts," he pointed out.

The redhead sighs. "Fair enough, I suppose," he admitted, letting his arms drop to his sides, almost as if giving up.

 

"So, you'll show me your homework?" he inquired, stepping closer while sticking his hands behind his back.

Kyle groaned and ran a hand through his hair, messing up his bird's nest of hair even more.

"What am I getting out of this?" he asked, lips quirking upwards a little.

Eric stared at the expression, cheeks heating up ever so slightly. It had been so long.

"I knew I could count on you, you greedy jew!" he moved closer, grabbing the taller, lanky boy and pulling him into an awkward side hug. Said boy struggled and quickly pushed him away, brushing himself off as if he had been in contact with something nasty, but the faint smirk was still there.

“So?" he asked, crossing his arms defensively again.

"How about a free meal at McDonald's?" Eric offered.

Kyle looked disgusted.

"You do know that to a normal person, McDonald's is the worst kind of meal?"

Eric simply shrugged, "Make it two then."

Kyle scoffed. "Gross," if his eyes were to roll any harder they might just have rolled to the back of his head. "Fine."

The brunette grinned. "Cool! Now hand over the homework."

The other rolled his eyes. "Wait here." He pushed past Eric and made his way out of the kitchen.

 

Eric's shoulders slumped and he released a relieved sigh.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, taking in the homely environment of the yellow environment. Almost the first rays if spring sun, it shone hopefully as sign to end his winter.

 

Never in his life had he been this happy to see his.. enemy? Friend?

Never had he been so happy to see Kyle.

 

_The faint upwards quirk of his lips when he listened to his bullshit, his messy curls, the way he pretended to be angry at him-_

 It was almost overwhelming. His hands were twitching, desperate to find the boy and _feel_ him. Feel if he was real.

 

Stop.

 

This was just guilt speaking.

He just felt relieved.

It had to be a natural reaction to the situation.

 

He took a deep breath, calming himself.

Just because Kyle had been dead, didn't mean Eric liked him any more than usual. He was still _Kyle_.

A dirty, thieving and selfish jew that he only hung out with because he was useful _sometimes_.

 

He nodded. That's what it was.

 

The month he had spent wallowing in self-pity and hatred was in the past. Or present? Either way, it didn't matter anymore. It was a moment of weakness and could be buried now. It had never existed, in fact. Not in this time line.

 

Kyle appeared in the doorway again, reminiscent of a ghost, or perhaps an angel due to the faint golden rim light the rising sun shining through from a window behind him caused. In his hand, he held a pale green notebook in a loose and careless grip. He approached the other, holding it out casually, when something caught Eric's eye.

 

Slight raised white lines on the boy's thin arm, blending in with the paleness of his skin so well, that the lines only showed at the perfect angle in good lighting.

 

This wasn't over.

Kyle was alive.

But that didn't mean his problems were gone.

 

Eric bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grabbing the other's arm and demanding answers.

Last time had ended in catastrophe. He wouldn't make the mistake again.

But what could he do?

 

Kyle raised a brow, waving the book around. "Are you going to take it or what? My arm's getting tired," he stated with an almost annoyed tone, but the slight playful tone was there?

 

He snatched the book from him, smiling sheepishly.

"My apologies, the thought of touching your jew germs kinda grossed me out," he teased, causing the taller boy to give him a disbelieving look that usually signified an oncoming rant.

But it never came. Kyle just rolled his eyes and moved towards the counters, turning on the coffee machine.

He turned to look at Eric, a sober look on his face.

"Since you're here anyway, do you want some coffee?" he offered, holding up two mugs. One green and one red.

The brunette smiled, this time gently and genuinely.

"Sure."

"How do you like it?" he asked, setting the green one under the machine and setting it up to give him strong black coffee.

"One half coffee, one half milk, 4 teaspoons of sugar." He stated, finding Kyle's reaction amusing.

"I'm not a goddamn Starbucks employee, dude. Are you sure you even want coffee at this point?" he asked, tone lightening up.

"Hey, I like my coffee like I like my food-" he began being interrupted by Kyle.

"Disgusting?"

"The food I like isn't disgusting!"

Kyle's lips stretched into a distracted smirk and he began making Eric's drink, sipping his own bitter drink, the strong smell of which made Eric feel slightly nauseous.

 

 

 

Two empty mugs stood on the floor as the quiet noises of shooting and yelling called out from the TV, accompanied by hushed curses and insults laced with sarcasm and jokes.

 

For the first time in a month, Eric was relaxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda short and took forever, but I am by no means giving up on this fic! In case anyone is worried, the fic is not even close to being done, even though Kyle is back, so don't worry. Our buddies here have a lot more in store.  
> Btw, if anyone's interested, I drew something for Kyle's birthday! https://pastafearfactory.tumblr.com/post/174283858442/happy-birtday-kyle


	8. Chapter 8

Eric was acting a little strange. He kept glancing at Kyle in an almost paranoid manner every two seconds. Kyle felt himself tensing up and digging nails into his palms to keep calm and from snapping at the brunette, as he hadn’t necessarily done anything wrong _yet._ Once he’d escorted the boy out of his house, allowing him to steal the notebook, he found himself letting out a sigh of relief.  
It wasn’t normal. Eric kept accidentally brushing against him, brushing his hand against his – what was up with him? He grabbed the mugs off the floor of his room and stared into their empty contents. The leftovers of Eric’s sugary drink were piled up in the bottom in a small, soggy mountain of white grain and Kyle couldn’t help but grimace at the thought of such a nauseatingly sweet drink. The drink matched Eric too well.

His steps were light and calculated as he made his way down the staircase. He had learnt exactly where to step to avoid the betraying creak of the boards, however, usually; he had used this skill to sneak around the house at the late hours of night, not at 7 am. His bare feet padded against the cold wood softly and he finally took a breath once he made his way into the kitchen.  
Placing the mugs in the sink, he slowly turned on the tap, turning the temperature of it to the hottest setting, before moving the handle of it up just enough to begin a quiet and small dribble of hot water. His hand reached out for the beaten up looking dish sponge and he cringed a little at the rough and dirty feeling texture of it, before wetting it a little and pouring green, lemon scented dish soap onto it.

Quietly, he began scrubbing at the mugs, knowing that his mother hated unwashed dishes. She also hated when people were over without her permission, so Kyle knew he had to erase all signs of it. The scalding water burned his skin, leaving it in shades of pink and red, but Kyle didn’t mind. It almost felt relieving. Once he had finished washing the mugs and had set them aside, he let his hands stay under the water for a while, gritting his teeth.  
Finally freeing his hands, his hands were shaking a little as a wave of unbearable heat, followed by the sensation of a snowy avalanche washed over his skin. He turned off the water and the skin on his hands stung in a beautifully cold manner.

Remembering the mugs, he grabbed the towel rested on a rack beside the sink and began wiping the droplets of water off of it, making sure to scrub the insides meticulously to make sure the mugs were completely dry. The only sign of recent use was the fact the mug was a little warm from being washed, but Kyle knew very well that it would cool down in a matter of minutes after he stuffs it into the cupboard. And that was exactly what he did. He had remembered the exact place he had taken the mugs from and made sure to place them back in the right spot. It was a little much, he knew, but he didn’t want to risk his mother’s wrath.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of her, per se, but she wasn’t exactly the most rational woman he knew and ignoring her rules would often end up in some form of punishment. He was never the kind to break them often anyway, as the worst form of punishment had been the awful _grounding_. As a child, the threat of it had been the fear of many children, including him. Being excluded from his friends and chained to your house would be the worst thing to happen to a young boy with a busy social life. Now, however, he seemed to be doing to excluding himself, so he supposed an excuse to stay home was quite welcome.

Even so, he couldn’t stand the high pitch screeching voice of his hot-headed mother. It made his head ache in an excruciating manner and his heart beat faster than ever.

He closed the door of the cupboard quietly and slowly and ran his hand through his hair. He felt the grease that had piled up in his hair and felt disgusted with himself, but the thought of dragging himself back up the stairs again and making his way to the bathroom to take a shower felt exhausting and he’d rather avoid doing that.

He rested his hand on the counter and sighed, eyeing the line of scattered freckles running down his arm. On his wrist and upwards, he saw the faint lines he had created on them, some of them still red and irritated from the previous night. He was surprised that Eric hadn’t noticed them, but he supposed he had just gotten good at hiding them.  
_I have to get changed before my parents wake up._ He thought to himself, standing up straight again. _Why was even the thought of getting dressed so overwhelming?_

He took a deep breath and headed towards the staircase again, still ever so careful with where he stepped to avoid alerting his family. Just like that, slowly and begrudgingly, he made his way up the stairs and stumbled right back into his room.

Gently closing the door, he moved to the dresser near his bed. He pulled a drawer open, fidgeting with it a little and wiggling it from side to side as he did as it was quite old and yanking it open just like that would have rattled it quite a bit. Peeking into the drawer he stared at the mountain of long sleeved shirts, most ranging from shades of grey to black.  He reached into it and tugged a cool grey one out from underneath the others. He had now disturbed the neat pile, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He shut the drawer and began digging through the others to complete his outfit.

He had ended up with the shirt, black jeans, white briefs and socks, all of which he had balanced on his forearm. He moved to his bed and dumped the clothes over it carelessly. He still hadn’t made it after waking up and he didn’t really feel like it either, but he supposed he had no choice, as his mother would never allow such a _messy_ bed. He tugged up his shirt and removed it, tossing it onto the bed, before simply sitting on it, grabbing the long-sleeved one from next to him and playing with it carelessly. He glances at his naked torso, almost sickened by the ribs almost ready to burst through his skin. _When had he lost all of that weight?_

He glanced down at the grey shirt in his hands. The tag was poking out a little, reading in large, white letter S. Hadn’t he been an M a year ago? He couldn’t recall how he had gotten this bony. Most of the previous year seemed to blend together into one grey mush somehow. He supposed it didn’t really matter anyway. Not much seemed to, these days.

Finally, he properly unfolded the shirt and slid it on, wincing a little as the fabric brushed against the irritated skin on his arms. The shirt was a little tight around the shoulders, but at least the fabric didn’t hang off his arms and torso in an obviously baggy manner. He pushed himself up and continued getting dressed at an excruciatingly slow pace, stumbling every now and then as he pulled up his pants. He tucked his shirt into the jeans just as his mother had always told him to. The waist of his jeans was a little wider than it should have been, but it didn’t matter all that much. Not enough to begin the search for a belt.

Once he was finally done, he let out a quiet relieved breath and lied down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. He could foggily remember the surface once being pure white – fresh and unmarked. Looking at it now, though, it had changed a lot. There were many darker marks and faint spots on it that wouldn’t really been noticeable under a quick gaze, but Kyle had been looking up at it enough times to remember the location of each marking on the surface. In a similar manner, he could easily notice the slightly darker squares of colour on the walls, where he had once held posters for his favourite shows and games. When was the last time he was genuinely into something?  
At least now his room had a more sophisticated look to it, as his mother had mentioned once. 

A sudden beep echoed through his room, causing his gaze to snap off the walls and wander round the room in search of the cause. The noise cut through his quiet room in an alarming manner. The noise itself hadn’t been all that loud, but it seemed almost like a bomb going off right next to him when compared to the silence of the room. He couldn’t help but wonder if his parents would awake because of it.  
Nonsense. It was fine.  
His phone stood on his desk, charging. He could see the faint glow of the lockscreen from his bed, noticing how it cast a small light in the room darkened by the curtains. He rolled his eyes and focused on the ceiling again, before he heard another one. Followed by another.

Yep, someone was messaging him.

He didn’t want to deal with more people. He’d already put up with Eric for an hour. He turned onto his side, back to the desk, deciding to ignore the noise. The noises seemed to have stopped, so he could relax and count the small specks on his wall.  
But he wouldn’t be let off the hook this easily.

Another bing. Another. His phone began buzzing.  
_Great, they were calling him now._

He pushed himself into a sitting position just in time for the buzzing to end. _Great._ Even so, he was already getting up and walking across his room to get to the source of the sound, determined to at least silence it. As he picked the item up, he could see a name pop up on his lockscreen.

Stan.

He could feel himself tensing up a little as he read his name and he pressed a shaky finger to the back of his phone, to unlock it, but due to the movement he had to try a couple of times before he succeeded. The small messenger circle had popped up showing Stan’s profile picture. It was Stan, wearing a brown leather jacket while crouched next to a sleeping Sparky, whose fur had begun to grey a little.

He rested his eyes on the picture for a moment, almost admiring it, before finally opening the messages. 5 new messages and a missed call. Great. He began looking through them with a tired expression, already knowing where it was going.

**Stan: Kyle**

**Stan: Hey dude**

**Stan: I know ur awake cus ur some kinda early bird**

**Stan: Anyway theres a party at clydes place tonite his parents r out u game?**

**Stan: answer mee**

**_You missed a call from Stan.  
Call back_ **

He could already smell the cheap beer, mixed with perfume and sweat and feel the pounding of the bass in his ears. People everywhere. People trying to talk to him. He really didn’t want to drag himself out of the house.

**You: No thank you, I’m busy tonight.**

**You: Sorry**

He could feel his heartbeat increase as Stan saw the message, the three dots popping up to signify he was typing. Would he be angry?

**Stan: dude u always bail :(((**

**Stan: w never hang out anymore, I miss u**

**Stan: we***

‘I miss you’. I, not ‘we’ or anything else. _He_ missed Kyle. He could visualize the stupid puppy face Stan’d make. That dumb, handsome face that always got him what he wanted. He knew he’d often made excuses to avoid spending time with his friends, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t bring himself to go. Being around people, going out of his house – it felt awful, even the simple thought of it was stupidly exhausting and almost painful. He could never truly enjoy himself when out with friends. He’d just make them all uncomfortable and ruin the day. They deserved to enjoy their night instead of having him around to drag them down.

**You: Sorry, but I have to study. You know how my mom is.**

He could see the three dots pop up again, ready to argue, to convince him, before they dropped again. He was about to set aside his phone before the dots popped up again. He could feel a small lump forming in his throat. Would Stan be upset? Disappointed?

**Stan: o**

**Stan: maybe u can just tell her were hanging out at cartmans place or something**

**Stan: his mom would cover for us for sure**

Of course she would. That woman spoiled her _lovely_ son to no end, even now that he was an ‘adult.’ He could easily go and be safe from the wrath of his mother and Stan was well aware of that. He just _couldn’t_. Why was he like this?

**Stan: C’mon**

**Stan: Token got Kevin to buy booze**

**Stan: Some good stuff**

Their parties were never without booze, Kyle thought to himself as he read that. Somehow, somewhere, Clyde or Craig could always get it. Now, however, that Kevin had turned 21, it was easier than ever. He was more than willing to risk getting in trouble with the law for buying minors alcohol if he was paid enough.  
Kyle couldn’t help but wonder if the man would also attend the party. He could imagine him sipping from a cheap can of beer as he leaned against the wall, watching the younger kids dance and grind, still not aware of how much they should and shouldn’t drink. His cinnamon brown hair would be as messy and tousled as always, some strands falling in his face to frame it nicely.

He could remember visiting Kenny one day. He must have been 13 or 14 and was squished between Stan and Eric on the couch, playing video games mindlessly while occasionally sipping Pepsi.

_The front door was pushed open and a boy older than all of them stumbled in, slamming the door shut behind him. It was Kevin, aged 16, looking like quite a mess. He towered above everyone in the room, even Kyle, who had in the last year outgrown everyone else in his group. He couldn’t help but stare at him for a moment. Never before had he thought of Kenny’s older brother as attractive. Mostly, he had just seemed like background noise to him while visiting Kenny._

_But now? His eyes couldn’t help but wander. Kevin had developed a sharp, defined jawline and a small amount of stubble had begun to sprout, giving him a more mature look. His eyes were a smoky shade of the sky, when it was darkening, concealing rain in its clouds. They were deep and almost piercing, being complimented by the dark brown hairs of his thick brows. His hair colour was varying shades of brown: chocolate, coffee, caramel, copper and most defining – cinnamon.  
There was a small scar across the bridge of the boy’s crooked nose, leaving a lighter shade of skin there. The boy had many small cuts over his face and what stood out most was the fading shades of violet and faint specks of yellow around his slightly swollen eye._

_He stood there in the doorway for a moment, leaning against it and observing the boys for a moment. He was dressed in baggy khaki shaded pants that had a couple of rips and stains on them and a white T-shirt that hugged his frame in a flattering manner. On top of that, he had pulled on a red flannel shirt, having the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the shirt open._

_He pushed himself away from the wall and headed towards the kitchen, a small limp to his walk as he did so. Kyle could hear the sound of a fridge opening and closing, before it was followed by the sound of a can opening. He forced his eyes back to the screen, feeling his cheeks heat up just a little._

_What was happening to him?_

Kyle was snapped out of his thoughts as the phone in his hand vibrated again.

**Stan: So u game?**

**Stan: plz dude**

Why did he have to be so persistent? He couldn’t help but be relieved that the boy wasn’t here in person, or he would have had to give in to him. It was difficult saying no to him. His best friend. His _super_ best friend. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought. He hadn’t been much of a best friend to Stan, much less a super one.

**Stan: Itll be fun I promise**

Kyle knew it wouldn’t be. He knew he’d end up drinking too much to drown out the thoughts in his head. He knew he’d most likely do stupid things he’d regret, say stupid things he’d regret. Maybe he’d end up locking himself in a bathroom and cry or walk home, still half drunk and face his enraged mother. He’d end up looking at everyone else having fun and wondering why he couldn’t. Drinking even more to try and be _normal._ See Stan and Wendy dancing together or making out behind a corner, reminding him exactly why he could never have him.

What he feared most of all, was loosening his tongue a little too much. He had never been a chatty drunk but he was scared. It could always happen.

**Stan: I don’t want to go without you**

It wasn’t true and Kyle knew it.

**You: Alright, I’ll come.**

****

* * *

 

 

   


  
  
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	9. Chapter 9

Once Eric reached his house, he was panting a little. It was a little past 7, but he knew his mother would be waking up soon. His mother knew his well enough to know he wouldn’t have been on a _morning walk._

_In the past- or was it future? His mother would most likely have given him a compassionate look as she saw him wandering into the house, fully clothed and quietly offer him breakfast or something to drink. He’d just give her a tired look and wander upstairs aimlessly after a night of walking around._

Now, he couldn’t be sure. If she caught him sneaking in, she’d most likely give him an annoyed look and a short lecture, before softening up and telling him she loved him. There were no real consequences, but he simply didn’t have the time or mood for that.

He moved closer to the door, climbing up the steps leading up to it just as he had every other day. This time, however, it truly felt like he was coming home. His hand reached out to pull the door open. His skin met the cold metal of the doorknob and he turned it slowly, only for it to stop after a moment and stubborny refuse to move no matter how much he willed it to.

It was locked.

Crap. How could he have forgotten? Any sane person locked the door overnight. _Especially_ in South Park.

He exhaled loudly, letting frustration and annoyance flow out of his body with his breath. He stepped backwards, almost stumbling down the steps, but catching him last minute and carefully moving down said steps.

His eyes swept across the house, looking for any other way to access it. He wasn’t certain that there would be and for once he cursed the fact that his mother wasn’t as careless as she seemed. That being said, he glanced over the windows, scrutinizing them as he looked over every inch of them.

Then he saw it. A slight, barely noticeable crack in a window. _His_ window.

_Success._

His feeling of relief was short lived, however, as he realized there was virtually no means to get up there. At least not at first glance.  
He approached the wall and brushes his fingertips against the wall.  
Too smooth to climb.

He sighed and looked around his garden almost hopelessly, searching for a solution. He could have sworn he saw a ladder in someone’s garden earlier, but couldn’t decide if he wanted to go back and get it.  
As another cold breeze cut through his body, he made up his mind.

 

Soon enough, Eric was positioning a cold wooden ladder against the wall, digging the ends of it into the ground a little. He took a deep breath and rattles it a little to make sure it wouldn’t fall. Nodding to himself, he began his climb.

The ladder was cold, a little damp and slippery from being outside most of the time. He gripped the steps of the ladder tighter and continued his climb until he reached his window.  
Gripping the step with one hand, tensing up as it wobbled a little, he slowly hooked his fingers under the slightly opened window and pulled it up quietly and carefully.  
He moved forward, getting his torso through the window, before cautiously pulling in his legs and hopping off the window sill and into the deep purple bedroom. He turned around and leaned out the window a little, considering what to do with the ladder.

His neighbour would most likely be looking for it later and he wasn’t planning on being caught with it. That in mind, he grabbed it by one of the steps and lifted it a little. He grit his teeth at how heavy it seemed to have become, but kept lifting it up, until he could manoeuvre it properly.

_Where could he put it?_

His gaze snapped to the faded coffee brown house next to his own. Butters’ house. _Perfect._

He swung the ladder from side to side, gaining momentum, before aiming it towards the boy’s house. It landed in his garden, barely making it across the boarder between the houses.  
He smirked and closed the window, stretching in a relaxed manner. He pulled the curtains shut and turned to face his room once more, letting his eyes wander across it. It looked so _clean_ now. Sure, there were a few empty wrappers and bottles scattered around, accompanied by full ones, but it no longer held a stuffy and abandoned feel to it.

Just about to approach his bed and jump onto it, he was stopped in his tracks by the covers shifting.

_Someone was in **his** bed._

His hand reached towards the wall behind him, feeling around before gripping something blunt. A baseball bat.

He crept closer to his bed, hoping his weight wouldn’t cause the floor to make enough noise to wake up this _intruder._  
He shuffled towards the bed, being interrupted by the intruder turning in his bed.

Eric held his breath, but as soon as his eyes landed on this _stranger’s_ face, it escaped his lungs with a small gasp. The bat in his hand almost dropped to the floor, his fingers tightening around it last minute, salvaging it.

“What the fuck..” he breathed out just slightly above a whisper, heart beginning to race, knocking against his ribcage desperately.

He took a step back, eyes still glued to the figure on _his_ bed.

Almost chocolate-y syrup brown hair dripping over the pillow, framing a round, rosy face. Thick, matching brows above the closed eyes.

He could feel bile rising up in his throat.

_What the fuck was going on?_

_Why was he in both his bed and standing in front of it?_

As the figure began to stir, Eric quickly dashed towards the closet, sliding the doors open and diving into the dark space filled with old clothes, toys, books and any other type of junk he’d tossed into it. He crouched somewhat behind a rack with drawers containing what appeared to be stuffed toys and clothes and slid the door almost closed. However, he left a small opening to peek out into the room, hoping to understand what was happening. He quietly set down the bat beside him.

He watched his bed for a good while, already hearing the faint sounds of his mother going about her business around the house. The muffled sound of pots and pans being moved around and metal spoons clinking against it sounded almost comforting to the boy.

Eventually, the threat in his bed stirred again, this time kicking off his blanket in doing so and letting out a loud snore and dribbling drool onto his pillow.

_Gross, man._

_Finally,_ the _other_ Eric sat up. The bed beneath him creaked threateningly, but he ignored it, simply throwing his arms up in a stretch and letting out a loud yawn as his shirt hiked up. Eventually, he lowered his arms and fixed his shirt, before hopping off the bed with a loud thud.

Eric could feel even the floor beneath _him_ quake ever so slightly.

“Mom?!” the other Eric called out, stumbling towards the door and yanking it open hard enough to crash it into the wall thoughtlessly. The boy headed out of his room, calling out to his mother again to ask if breakfast was ready.

His mothers’ response was slightly muffled by the walls, but her tone seemed to indicate a positive answer.

_What the fuck was he supposed to do now?_

He shuffled towards the wall of the closer, tossing a couple of boxes out of the way to press his ear to the wall, listening to the mumble-like sound of _him_ and his mother speaking as he tried to comprehend his situation.

There was two of him. But how?

Images of old movies and cartoons began to resurface in his memories, dragging up with them the memories of time travel related stories.

Hadn’t they often had two of the main character? Present and future?

That had to be it.

But if he was correct, what could he do? This version of him was an unsympathetic asshole, he had to admit to himself. He could ruin _everything_ Eric had worked for in the past month.

“Fuck!” he hissed through clenched teeth, running a hand through the messy strands of his hair. He _couldn’t_ let himself do that to Kyle again. Do that to _himself_ again.

But what could he possibly do to stop him? He doubted he’d believe himself, the other him would most likely call bullshit and scheme some way to get rid of him if he kept bothering him.

_What was there to do?_

The only real solution he had was to _get rid of_ the other him.

His fists clenched. He could do that.

 

As Eric sat in the closet, knees pulled up to his chest to preserve space and back leaning against a wall, he began developing a plan. The room around him was small and almost suffocating as the small creak in the door was not nearly enough to give him enough air. Even so, he knew he couldn’t risk getting out and having the threat of the other him or his mother seeing him. There was no way out either as he had tossed away his only means of escape.

**_Fuck._ **

He took a deep breath, which didn’t help much, but he still managed to clear his head a little. His fingers itched towards his pocket, digging out his phone clumsily and awkwardly due to the lack of moving room.

The screen lit up and he found himself squinting as the light scraped at his eyes almost painfully. Moving quickly, he changed the brightness settings, relaxing again and finding him being able to focus on the screen properly.

It was nearing 8 am already and Eric knew his mother would most likely head out to do some grocery shopping as she did on almost every Saturday.

If he was right, and he better be, considering this was him, the other him would simply stay home and laze around for the better part of the day.

_Which was perfect._

Another half an hour passed. Eric was ready to doze off in the dark warmth of the closet, when he felt the house shake as the front door was shut loudly. His head snapped up from it’s hung state and smashed against a box behind him. He cusses under his breath, rubbing the spot gently with two fingers, trying to ease the small throb.

He was torn from the action as he heard steps echoing through the house and the small creak of the stairs.

He was coking upstairs.

Eric quickly made sure he was veiled by the mountains of boxes and clothes and made himself as small as possible. His hand slips into his pocket, sliding his phone into it. His hands were trembling ever so slightly and he promptly tightened them into fists, digging his short, bitten nails into the tender skin of his palms.

The door was slammed open carelessly yet again and Eric knew then it had to be the other him.

_Was he really that obnoxious?_

He peeked through the crack, being faced with the sight of his double tossing off his loose pajama shirt. He pattered over to his dresser, grabbing a red shirt from the first drawer. It was a little too tight arounf his neck, but he didn’t seem to care. His hands then moved to the boxers he had slept in, beginning to hike them down.

Eric scrunched his nose and looked away, waiting for him to get changed.

He had seen his own body millions of times, but something about this felt disgustingly wrong, so he waited.

A couple of minutes later, his gaze returned to the other him, watching him walk over to the bed, flopping onto the bed. Eric could see it buckle under him a little. The other versiom of him grabbed his phone from beside hois bed, pulling the charger cord out and turning onto his side. His back was now to Eric. He had to move _now_.

His hand patted the carpeted floor beside him, brushing against the wooden handle of the bat. Curling his finger around it, he rolled it closer, before tightening his fingers around it in a knuckle-whitening grip.

He stood up carefully, stepping over boxes to approach the sliding doors. He peeks out of the crack, confirming that the other him was indeed still lying on his side. His fingers hooked around the door and pushed it open painfully slowly to keep it from alerting the other.

He glanced at the floor, praying it wouldn’t be too loud as he stepped out and onto it. Both of his hands were tightened around it, trying to find support in it as he raised it and crept closer to the bed.

He held his breath as he stood right in front of the bed, ready to swing the bat when the other him slowly turned around.

A scream echoed through the house and suddenly Eric was on the floor, being pinned down by the other, furious him.

“Who the fuck are you?” he shouted, holding a clenched fist above his head, ready to bring it down.

Eric bared his teeth and dug his nails into the shoulders of his twin, swiftly moving him to the left, causing them to roll over and their positions to switch.

The other brunette’s eyes were full of furious flames, but he was breathing shallowly and his pupils were dilated in fear.

“Help! Mom! Butters! **Stan!** ” the boy beneath him exclaimed desperately, trying to alert anyone who might be nearby.

Eric couldn’t get anything done like this.

He brought down his fist and could feel it colliding with the soft flesh of the other’s cheek, ripping a cry of pain from the boy’s throat.

Eric was panting heavily, staring at the red mark on the other his face. The action seemed to have irritated the other and he began writhing more and with more anger as a sense of danger and adrenaline evaded his veins.

Eric raised his fist again, aiming for the other’s eye and brought it down fast, but the other him moved his head just in time, resulting in Eric’s fist to collide with the wooden floor.

A lightning bolt of pain shot through his fist, moving up his arm as he shouted angrily. He sat back, cradling his arm out of reflex and dropping the baseball bat, leaving him unguarded.

The other Eric’s leg shot up, kicking him in the chest and knocking him over as breath was knocked out of him.

“Shit!” he rasped, trying to get up immediately, but the other him was faster, giving his side another powerful kick. Eric flailed around helplessly, trying to grab anything to defend himself with, only to be straddled again.

The other him grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling his head up just a little and raising his free hand, ready to attack.

“Who. Are. You.” He hissed, eyes burning with rage.

“I’m,” Eric rasped, still breathless, “you,” he finished his sentence, only to be met with a fist to his eye.

“Bullshit!” the other above him exclaimed, almost spitting the words that were laced with venom and hatred.

“I’m telling the truth, dumbass!” he shouted back, feeling a small, numb stinging near his eye as he spoke. His left eye was partially shut and he didn’t dare to open it, in fear of more unnecessary pain.

The Eric above him shook his head angrily, brown strands of hair whipping around.

“You’re a dirty, fat liar!”

Eric could feel his blood moving from a small simmer to full on boiling. He swung his head up, bumping it against the other’s furiously, sending his head flying back. He released Eric and the brunette scrambled up, ignoring the throbbing in his forehead. Noticing his baseball bat left unguarded on the floor, he dashed for it, allowing it to find itself in his grip again.

He could feel his eye watering and spilling some across his cheek, impairing his vision even more, but he could ignore it for now.

He whipped around swiftly, just in time to see his clearly dizzy duplicate managing to get up. His reflexes no longer seemed sharp and guarded and going by the slight stagger in his walk, the headbutt had affected him more than a little.

He headed towards Eric with the intent to tackle him, but the brunette stepped aside quickly, holding out his leg, letting the other run into it and crash to the floor.

Not daring to waste a moment of the other’s inability to move, he raised the bat and swung it down hard against the other’s head.

Any attempt at getting up was stopped and the other’s raised head fell to the floor carelessly, causing a worrying thud to ring across the room.

Eric released a relieved sigh, letting the bat drop to the floor. He swept the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping off the beads of sweat that had gathered there.

“Shit,” he spat over his shoulder, before approaching his double carefully. He lowered himself into a squat, wincing as he heard his knees crack. He poked the unconscious boy in front of him. No reaction.

He pressed his fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. The activity probed harder than he thought as he pressed them deeper into the skin and fidgeted them around, before finally brushing over it.

_He was alive._

“What the fuck do I do now?” he muttered into the quiet room, possible ideas running through his head.

He stood up and rushed over to his desk, yanking open the first drawer and beginning to dig through the paper, pens, envelops and notebooks he’d carelessly tossed into it when he wanted to get them out of his way and had forgptten about them.

_He really needed to throw shit out._

Finally, his fingers latched onto what he needed. A roll of duct tape.

A faint smirk built it’s way onto his face. It was a foreign feeling, but truly brought back memories of who he was.

Making his way back to the unconscious body, he felt almost relieved, crouching next to him again and pushing him onto his back.

 

Soon enough, his job was done. He tossed the roll into the pocket of his pants and nudged his unconscious double with his foot. He’d taped up his mouth and hands, making sure he wouldn’t be able to escape them without help.

_Now what?_

He paced around his room. He had to get the other him out of his way. Should he kill him?

No, he couldn’t risk potentially harming himself in doing so.

The only things he could come up with were taking him somewhere else to keep him out of his life. _The life he had just gotten back._ He wouldn’t allow this dumbass version of him snatch it away again.

_Where could he put him?_

His smirk grew. He knew _exactly_ where to put him.

 

His arm hurt _so_ fucking bad. It throbbed tortuously, but he simply tightened his grip on the wheel. His eyes were focused straight ahead as he sped down the empty road. The duffle bag beside him rattled, the contents shaking around every time he drove across a bump, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The skin around his eye was sore and he could feel it swelling up. It’d leave a nasty black andpurple speckled mark around it and he might not be able to see properly for a couple of days.

_Fuck it_

He glanced in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t see the other him, whom he had stuffed into the trunk, but he felt a need to make sure he hadn’t waken up.

Getting the boy there had been quite a chore. He’d tried multiple methods of transport, but carrying someone his own size had proved quite a difficult task. Eventually, he’d settled for dragging him half of the way. The stairs might have been most painful for the other, but it wasn’t exactly any of his concern.

He focused on the road again, making a right turn onto a small path hidden by the trees surrounding it. It was narrow, leaving room for just one car to drive it, but he’d never noticed anyone else heading down it, so he wasn’t worried. He slowed down his car, eyes scanning his surroundings, trying to recollect the exact location of his destination.

Finally, he pulled over and got out of the car, leaving the engine on.

Despite it being 9 am, the area was dark, as almost any light from the rare sun rays that graced South Park were blocked by the thick branches and trees surrpunding him. He carefully approached the slightly raised spot of ground, before stopping in front of it and tapping it with his foot.

Felt like metal.

He crouched and pulled out a large, rusty key from his pocket. With his other, gloved hand, he wiped off the layer of leaves, pine needles and branches, uncovering an ancient looking metal trap door with barely noticeable relief designs on it that had been worn down over the years.

He pushed a small flap aside, revealing a keyhole.

He unlocked the door and took hold of the small circular handle on the trap door, pulling it up. It resisted, but he kept going, adding his other hand to assist, gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain wrecking through his arm.

Finally, the door buckled upwards slowly with a loud, ear-scraping noise of metal scraping against metal. Once the door was fully open, he glanced at his hands. They were a little red and had specks of peeled off paint on them, causing him to grimace and wipe them on his pants. Sticking the key back in his pocket, he wandered over to his car and popped the trunk open, revealing a passed out figure that had been squished into the tight space.

Eric reached out and grabbed the boy by his arms, pulling him out of the car slowly. He stumbled backwards as his knees buckled under the weight, but licked his chapped lips, not letting go.

 

He brushed himself off as he viewed his handiwork. The brunette in front of him was settled into a sitting position, eyes still closed. His hands were tied together with a complex knot he’d learnt a couple of years ago, leaving no chance of escape without assistance for the boy.

Eric stepped backwards and slid the open duffel bag off his shoulder to toss it next to the other. A couple of open packets of snacks peaked out of the bag.

_He’d be fine._

He took a deep breath of the damp air around him. The room was almost pitch black save for the light peeking into it from the opening above them. There wasn’t much room in the damp, stone walled area, but it was enough to survive in, he supposed. It _had_ been built for that after all.

Eric began the climb up a worn rope-ladder quickly, clutching onto it and praying it wouldn’t break. As he emerged from the dark, almost suffocating cave-like shelter, he hopped out of the entry quickly, relieved to be outside again. Snatching the ladder, he began pulling it up, not wanting to leave a possible means of escape for the other.

_He couldn’t risk it._

The ladder was old and the wooden steps were beginning to rot slowly over the years of staying in a closed off moist environment and the rope had become worn, threatening to break eventually.

_He’d have to buy a new one._

Giving the deep room one final glance, he slammed the door shut again and locked it, making sure to brush the leaves and sticks back onto it to hide it from plain sight.

 

Finally, he could breathe again. Both from the pain in his side beginning to subside and the relief. Everything for his perfect life had been taken care of now, he thought to himself as he climbed into his car again and began driving off.


	10. Chapter 10

Eric walked into his room with a carefree stride. He casually dropped his coat onto his bed and dug his hands through his pockets, pulling out his car keys and phone.

That was when he noticed an identical object lying just on his bed, right next to his pillow.

_Another fucking phone?_

_Sweet._

His hand reached out for the other object, disregarding the phone he’d just removed from his pocket. He pressed his finger to the scanner at the back, wandering If it’d work. It did.

_But then again, how could it not have?_

The screen lit up and Eric couldn’t help but be surprised by the sight. The phone displayed multiple messages from Stan. He raised a brow and curiously reached for the other phone on his bed.

_No messages._

“Interesting…” he mumbled under his breath, before setting the ‘other’ his phone down again. Having two phones around, at least in plane sight wouldn’t be the brightest idea. Especially with the types of messages hidden in it.

He headed for his desk and hooked his foot around the handle of the lowest drawer, pulling it open. He crouched beside it it and raised a couple of objects in the drawer up, before sliding the phone under them.

An almost hawk-like gaze swept over the drawer before he was satisfied and pushed it shut again, this time with his hand.

_He could make this work._

_He **would** make this work._

Backing away from the desk, he crossed his arms proudly, eyes sweeping over the room he’d lived in for the better part of his life in a victorious manner. He reached his bed again, sitting down on the edge and causing the mattress to dip a little. His hand reached out for the phone he’d momentarily abandoned and gripped the cooled down case of it.

Methodically, he opened the phone again and began looking over the unread messages. As he gazed over them, vague memories of the exact same words began to resurface and his lips curled into a smirk.

_He could do this._

**Stan: anyway ur coming rite?**

**Stan: Just making sure**

He gazed over his previous messages. They’d been discussing a party over at Clyde’s house. He could vaguely remember the night. The clearest memory resurfacing, however, was the taste of cheap beer on his tongue and blurred lights flashing in rhythm with the beat of a loud bass.

**You: yea**

**You: duh**

He quickly typed out his response, feeling excitement building up in him at the thought of his life becoming _normal._

**You: Who else is coming??**

**Stan: uhhh well the usual guys**

**You: oh ok**

**Stan: oh and guess who got kyle to agree? ;)**

Eric felt his heartbeat quicken.

_Kyle would be there?_

He could recall no memory of Kyle attending it the last time.

Either way, it would be _fun_ seeing the borderline ginger drink himself to oblivion. He’d only ever seen that a couple of times in his life, the first being when they were 15. He could recall it almost perfectly.

_It was a Saturday night and the boy’s had come together to spend a night together playing video games and watching movies. They had gathered at Kenny’s house, which was rather unusual, but it seemed like any other, normal night._

_However, there was a small buzz of excitement in the air. Kenny’s parents were asleep already and the boys were sat on sleeping bags, huddled together on the floor of the blonde’s bedroom. It was a chilly night and the cold seeped in thrpugh the cracks in the window frame, causing the thin hairs on their arms and legs to rise._

_Kenny got up and crept to his door, pressing his ear against the surface of it and listening._

_“They’re asleep, I think,” he whispered to his companions and even in the faint light of phone flashligths, they could see the grin on his face. A band-aid had been placed on the bridge of his nose and he had a couple of cuts and bruises on his face, but the sight didn’t deter from his clear excitement._

_Bare feet pattered across the ever so slightly damp floor, leaving barely visibly footprints on it that faded a moment later._

_His hands reached out to his scruffy dresser. The middle drawer was missing and he slid out the top drawer half-way. He lifted up a couple of hoodies and shirts, revealing a row of stashed away beer.He scooped up four cans and cradled them in his arms, holding one up proudly._

_The other three stared at him curiously. None of them had had much experience with alcohol, other than Stan, who was quick to jump up and hurry over. Kenny, still grinning, handed one to him before moving over to Eric and Kyle, who were sitting next to each other on Kyle’s sleeping bag (Kyle had obviously objected, but Eric had squished himself next to him anyway)._

_The red haired boy tensed up and his brows furrowed as they always seemed to when he was about to make another gay speech. Eric nudged him in the ribs with his elbow, causing him to double over._

_“What the fuck, fatass?” he turned to him, whispering his question at him aggressively. Anger was etched onto his face and the lines on his forehead deepened as he was ready to retaliate._

_“Lighten up, jewfro,” he pat his shoulder, grinning as the boy shoved his hand away angrily. He was so **amusing.**_

_“All I’m saying, Kahl,” he spoke as he grabbed the two leftover cans from Kenny, setting one on hius lap and popping the other open. It was surprisingly cool for having been kept in a drawer, but Kenny’s house barely had any heating, so he supposed it shouldn't have come as too shocking.  
“That you should chill out. Let the dand flow out of your vagina or whatever,” he relished in the almost deadly glare that Kyle directed at him, “and have a drink,” he shoved the can he had just opened into Kyle’s unexpecting hands._

_The boy looked at Eric in disbelief._

_“I’m not going to drink alcohol, Cartman!” he almost exclaime, trying to hand the can back. Eric simply clutched his own can with two hands, refusing to accept Kyle’s._

_The boy rolled his eyes and set the can down on the floor next to him and glanced around the room. Stan was already emptying his can with a casual expression. Kenny, sat on his bed was sipping at it. He was grimacing a little, but that didn’t slow him down._

_“What do you see in this? It’s illegal for us to drink for a reason. You could seriously damage your liver!” he explained and Eric had to fight the urge to kick him in the rigs to shut him up for once._

_“Don’t be such a sourpuss, Kahl. Experimenting with things isn’t necessarily a bad thing.” He stated im a matter of fact tone._

_“Cartman, first of all: it’s illegal. Second of all, you can **experiment** when you’re 21.”_

_“Stop being a stick in the mud, Kyle,” Stan spoke out at last, wiping his mouth and setting his empty can aside._

_Kyle opened his mouth, most likely wanting to say something, but closed it again before reaching out for the can again. His slnded fingers gripped it a little too hard, denting the surface. Just as it looked like he was about to drop the item in disgust and fear, he raised it to his ~~soft~~ lips and took a sip, his adam’s apple bobbing in a barely noticeable manner._

_He removed the can from his lips quickly, casting everyone a disbelieving, almost betrayed look._

_“It’s disgusting,” he mumbled scrunching his nose._

_Stan smiled a little and pat Kyle’s back._

_“I know right? It sucks.”_

_“Then,” he raised a brow, “why the fuck are you drinking it?” his tone, however was a little lighter and the creases in his forehead had been ironed out._

_Stan grabbed a new can from Kenny, popping it open._

_“Keep drinking and you’ll see.”_

_And they did see._

_Kyle was slurring his words, leaning against Stan’s shoulder. He was trying to explain something or other to the boy, who didn’t seem to be paying much attention, staring at the wall with a dumb look on his face._

_Eric’s head was spinning and his vision was almost clouded by a warm, tingly feeling, but the sight of Kyle trying to claw at Stan’s shirt as he mumbled something about how shit he was feeling was oddly amusing._

_Amusing enough to make him laugh hysterically, soon joined by Kenny, who didn’t even have a clue what they were laughing about._

_When Kyle spilled the contents of his stomch onto Kyle’s light blue shirt and crying over it Eric was on the floor, curled up and laughing hysterically._

When he thought back to it, it wasn’t even that funny, but he _had_ been just as drunk, if not more. Even so, there was an amusing hint to the oh so composed honour student slurring his words and crying over dumb shit.

 His fingers returned to his phone as he glanced at it again.

**You: idk, Obama?**

**Stan: very funny certman**

A faint smirk found a way onto his face.

It was nice knowing that Stan no longer wanted to kill him. That it was normal between them again.

He pushed himself off the bed again and wandered over to his dresser, grabbing a change of clothes for himself before strolling out of his room towards the bathroom.

 

As he stood under the warm stream of water, he could barely wipe off the smile from his face. _Life was going well again. He had everything he needed at his beck and call again._

His car was warm and comfortable as he drove through the darkening neighbourhood along the road he’d memorized by this point. October, along with it’s cold breezes that Eric had become accustomed to, brought short days that faded into evening as early as 5 pm. It was 8 now and Eric was calmly heading towards Clyde’s house.

He’d gotten changed into a simple dark red T-shirt and ripped, baggy jeans and had thrown on a random, grey coat at the last minute. He could already see Clyde’s house. All the lights were on and the driveway was parked full of cars, making him question if he should have taken the car.

_Fuck it, he’d get a parking spot and if not, he’d **make** one for himself._

He pressed his car uncomfortably close to a silver, beat up looking Nissan. It wasn’t as though they’d be driving anywhere before sunrise, he supposed as he stepped out of his car, locking it after doing so.

He could hear the loud bass blasting music through the air from the driveway and the sound of shouting and drunken singing was followed by it.

_Just as he liked it. Normal._

He pushed open the front door and entered the house, being greeted by the familiar stuffy smell of sweat and cheap perfume mingled with spilled beer and vodka.

He grimaced and shut the door, sliding off his coat. The coat hanger was already drowning under the weight of jackets and coats so he shrugged and tossed the coat onto the floor before moving into the living room.

To say it was crowded would have been an understatement. At least eight people had crammed themselves onto the small sofa, two people occupying the armrests. A girl was sat on someone’s lap, the guy’s hands roaming her sides and back desperately.

He rolled his eyes and turned away from the display, eyes scanning the place for his friends. He noticed Stan and Kenny stood by the kitchen table, both of them holding a can of beer.

He approached slowly, feeling unease gathering in his stomach. Stan and Kenny _didn’t_ hate him, he had to assure himself, but seeing them in person still made him tense up ever so slightly.  
Not that he’d admit that to anyone but himself.

Stan glanced up at him and grinned.

_Fucking grinned._

“Hey, Cartman,” he greeted him cheerfully, a slight drag to his words, implying he’d already had a few drinks.

“Hey, Darsh,” he stuck a hand in his pocket, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he glanced around the familiar room.

Stan’s hand stuck out at him, holding a can of beer. He almost flinched at the action, but forced himself to stay still. He gave him a brief nod of gratitude, before taking the item from him. Popping it open with ease, he turned to Kenny.

“Surprised you aren’t whoring yourself out already, _Kinny,”_ he teased the boy, testing the waters. The blonde rolled his eyes, “Saving that for later, fatass,” he replied, taking another sip of his drink.

“Has _Kyle_ arrived already?” he asked placing the cheap can to his lips and tilting his head backwards, letting the foul-tasting liquid flow into his mouth. He swallowed immediately swallowed it, barely letting it touch his tongue.

He removed it from his mouth and left out a small sigh.

Kenny hummed in thought, before shrugging. “Not sure, to be honest.”

Stan nodded. “I doubt it, I haven’t seen him, at least.”

He nodded, sucking a disappointed breath.

“Welp, I’ll go look around. I have better things to do than stand around in a kitchen like a loser,” he pat Stan’s shoulder and waved to them briefly, before exiting the room.

 

He moved past the bodies pressed against each others, swaying to the music, and made his way up the stairs. He wondered where Clyde himself was but he couldn’t force himself to care enough to search for the boy.

He climbed his way up the stairs. The second floor was certainly quieter and air seemed to move more freely across it. The hallway was barely lit by the lights bouncing arounf on the floor below and the floor beneat him was almost throbbing along with the beat of the music.

He walked through the hallway, glancing at the doors. Most of them were closed and he could hear _faint_ noises from behind them. Faint enough for him to guess what they were.

_Great._

He took another careless sip from his can before stumbling upon a door that was creaked open. No light was coming from it, but as he passed it, a cold wave of air stroked his face, causing the hairs on his arm to raise.

_Was a window open?_

He pushed the door open more to find himself in a dark and cold bedroom. His arms wrap themselves around him, rubbing the soft skin on his arms in an attempt to warm himself as he steps forward, scanning the room. No one appeared to be in it and the only light seemed to be the faint orange hues of street light that weakly shone into the room through a window.

A large window.

One that was pushed open.

As he approached, he realized this was no window, but a glass door that seemed to lead to something.

He moved the thin curtains, that had been blowing in the breeze aside, revealing a small balcony.

_Someone was there, leaning against the railing._

_Red curls that shifted in the wind._

He pushed his way onto the balcony, not caring about the threatening creak under his feet.

The figure whipped around, looking almost like a deer caught in headlights for a moment.

“Eric?!” he hissed, but his tone was laced with more surprise than malice. He pressed his back against the railing almost defensively, before relaxing ever so slightly.

“Kyle,” he nodded, crossing his arms in an attempt to look casual and to hide the goosebumps forming on his pinkening skin.

The boy was wearing a black polo shirt that clung to his slim frame almost flatteringly, wringing out this wide shoulders and slimmer waist rather well. The shirt was tucked into his tight jeans, almost reminding him of their days in elementary school where everyone’s mother dressed them and ordered them to tuck in their shirts.

Kyle’s face was pale as ever, the yellow hues of the streetlamps being the only noticable splashes of colour on it other than the faint scatters of freckles. 

Eric moved closer, resting an elbow onto the railing and staring straight ahead at the empty streets. He could see the cars lined up in the driveways and how most of the houses nearby only had a couple of lights left on.

“Why are you out here?” he asked the boy quietly, casting him a brief glance. “Stan and Kenny are downstairs.”

Why _was Kyle_ here?

Kyle seemed to fidget a little, before shrugging briefly.

“It’s nicer here.”

He raised a brow. “If you wanted peace and quiet you could have just stayed home,” he said, almost bitterly.

The redhead hummed in response and took a sip from the can he had set next to himself. Eric hadn’t even noticed it earlier.

He couldn’t help but smile for a moment. “You’re drinking alone at a party. On a balcony.” He raised a brow, “you’re such a loser.”

Kyle’s tone as he answered wiped the smile off his face.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

No objections, no insults, just a tired, strained tone as he spoke. Eric briefly licked his dry lips, thoughts racing.

“I guess I’ll have to drink with you then.” He decided, turning to face Kyle properly.

“What?” the boy’s eyes snapped from the road to him, almost as if having been pulled out of a sleep-like state.

“I said I’ll have to drink with you,” Kyle’s brow was raised and Eric quickly added to his statement, “so you wouldn’t be _such_ a loser.”

That seemed to get the thin line that was Kyle’s lips to ease up a little into an almost-smile.

“Because you’re _so_ cool.”

The brunette smirked and took another sip. “I’m plenty cool for both of us!”

The boy’s ~~beautiful~~ emerald eyes rolled in an almost playful manner.

“Sure you are, fatass,” Kyle mumbled, tone a little lighter.

 

The dented cheap can was resting on the railing as Eric tapped it gently. The faint sound of the make-shift drum was the only thing that could be heard on the balcony for a while, accompanied by the even fainter music coming from the house.

Eric could feel his head beginning to become a little heavier, dragging his vision from one spot to another in a dizzing manner.

Somehow, his gaze always landed on Kyle.

“Kahl,” he mumbled, catching the dazed boy’s attention again.

“What?” he asked quietly, taking one last sip of beer before crushing the empty can, the noise cutting through the air almost like thunder.

Eric’s mind went blank for a moment as he stared at the taller male.

“Want more beer?” he offered, giving the boy a lazy grin.

Kyle sighed, before tossing the can onto the floor of the balcony.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool. Wait here,” he could feel his words slurring a little. “Don’t be a jew.”

Kyle shook his head in disapproval but said nothing as Eric walked off quickly with the goal of getting more drinks.

 

He scooped up a good 6 beers from the table, resting them in the crook of his elbow. The kitchen was empty now as most people had pooled into the living room. Shrugging it off, he grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and exited the room. He made his way back towards the stairs before being stopped by a warm hand resting on his shoulder.

He whipped around in surprise, coming face to face with Stan.

_Would he insult him?_

_Hit him?_

No, that was in the past. Or future?

_Whatever, it was confusing._

Stan looked a little paler and his eyes seemed to have a hard time focusing.

“Have you seen Kyle?” he mumbled, tongue having become looser and softer over the time and making his pronounciation less intelligible.

 _Yeah._ He thought to himself, but as he parted his lips to speak, all he could say was “Nah, haven’t seen your boyfriend tonight.”

Stan just rolled his eyes, used to the degrading comments from Eric.

“Well where the fuck is he?” he questioned, sounding almost annoyed.

_Upstairs, dumbass._

“He promised he’d come,” Stan grumbled, disappointed. Eric patted his shoulder.

“Maybe he realized what a dork you are and decided he’d be better off at home.”

Stan glared at him, fueling his amused state.

The other sighed and shook his head.

“Where are you taking all that crap?” he changed the topic, eyeing the beers in Eric’s hold.

_Crap._

“Oh, y’know. Upstairs.”

Stan raised a brow.

“So you’re drinking alone?”

He pressed his lips into an almost offended pout. “Nuh uh! I’m drinking with a _girl._ ”

He was stared at for a moment, before Stan burst out laughing.

“Sure, Cartman.” He rolled his eyes, “tell your imaginary girlfriend hi,” he chuckled, before pushing past the brunette and heading towards the kitchen.

_Why didn’t he tell Stan that Kyle was there?_

Maybe Kyle didn’t want to spend time with him.

_But why did he care?_

He couldn’t answer that and quickly drowned out the questions in his mind as silly drunken thoughts.

He didn’t care who Kyle wanted or didn’t want to spend time with.

_He didn’t._

 

Kyle was still leaning against the railing, looking off into the distance.

“Having fun being emo?” he teased him, moving to the space next to him casually.

Kyle snapped his gaze to Eric.

“Shut up fatass,” he scoffed, but the small smile didn’t go unnoticed by Eric.

He carefully set the cans onto the railing in a row, making sure the labels are facing them. Once he was done, he grabbed one and handed it over to the taller male, who stared at it for a moment, making no move to open it.

“You’re supposed to drink that, _Kyle_.” He taunted, opening his own and resting against the railing.

The railing was made of wood and painted with a coat o dark brown. The material was cracked in several places and the paint was flaking off, leaving a small line of dried paint on the floor of the balcony. As he leaned against it, it made a small noise of protest, but he wasn’t all that afraid of it breaking.

Kyle still hadn’t opened his can and Eric was beginning to get annoyed by his silence.

“I brought you the beer so you could drink it, not stare at it like an idiot,” he reached out for the can, “I’ll drink it myself if you won’t.”

Kyle’s hand snatched the can closer to himself before finally opening it reluctantly and taking a sip. His face scrunched up, but that didn’t stop him from taking another.

“Stan’s still looking for you, you know.”

Kyle’s bitter expression surfaced as he set down his can. “Didn’t you tell him I was here?”

“You didn’t seem like you’d want to talk to him,” he shrugged.

“Since when do _you_ care about that?” the boy shot back, almost accusingly.

“I don’t!” he quickly shot to his defense. “I just wasn’t in the mood to witness another fight between you and your boyfriend.”

Kyle seemed to bristle at his words.

_He could guess why._

“Shut up, Cartman,” he muttered his surname out of habbit.

It felt odd coming out of his mouth. When was the last time he regularly called him that? Freshman year?

_Eric was sat next to the small campfire, ignoring the way it made his eyes sting. It was a cold night in late May and he had found himself tagging along with his frieds earlier that day on a camping trip. He wasn’t sure why he’d come. It was dark and cold and damp in the woods and he couldn’t just throw food in a microwave at his convenience._

_Why had he come?_

_Well, the jew **had** asked him nicely._

_He stared at his surroundings, arms crossed. The dark of the night had painted the greens around him almost indigo blue and the faint stream of moonlight reflected off the dewdrops gathering onto the blades of grass. Stan and Kenny had already turned in for the night, snuggled comfortably in their sleeping bags in their tents. His eyes snapped up from the flame as Kyle, wearing shorts and aloose coat on his shoulders approached him._

_“What are you doing up, Cartman?” he questioned, sitting next to him on the log._

_Eric shrugged. “Not sleepy.”_

_Kyle hummed in thought. “Are you sure you’re not just planning to burn down the forest?”_

_“Ha ha, Kyle.” He stuck out his tongue at the boy, who simply gave him a weak shove. Both of them were smiling a little._

_“What about you? Sneaking out to hide some jew gold?”_

_He could almost **feel** Kyle’s eyes roll._

_“We don’t hide gold, Cartman.”_

_“Sure, that’s what you want everyone to believe, Kyle,” he replied, a smirk creeping up to his face._

_Kyle shook his head and stared into the fire. “I’m not tired either.”_

_They sat in silence for a while. Kyle had shifted a little closer as a harsh breeze swept over them. Eric couldn’t help but glance at the hairs on the redhead’s long skinny legs rising._

_“Summer’s staring soon, huh, Kyle?” he found himself asking quietly, still looking into the fire._

_“Yeah. Got any plans?” the other asked just as quietly._

_“Plenty of them! Not that I’d tell you, of course.” He stated smugly._

_Kyle rolled his eyes again, a small smile playing on his soft looking lips._

_“You’re going to sit inside and watch TV all summer, right?” it sounded like it could have been an insult, but it lacked to tone Kyle’s malicious words usually held._

_“I cannot confirm or deny that.”_

_A faint, breathy laugh escaped the other boy’s mouth, sounding soft and pure. “So I’m right.”_

_Eric pouted and crossed his arms grumpily. “I told you, jew, I cannot confirm or deny that!”_

_“Sure, Eric, sure,” he sighed._

_Cartman froze._

**_Had Kyle called him Eric?_ **

_The other seemed just as shocked._

_“I meant Cartman,” he quickly tried to repair the situation, but Eric shook his head stubbornly._

_“Eric’s fine. I guess.”_

_Kyle looked at him like he’d grown a second head._

_“What, jew? It’s my name after all.”_

_Kyle still seemed taken aback, but said nothing._

_After that night Kyle had called him Eric more and more and soon it became their norm._

“Now why would I do that?” he tried to ask in a smooth, smug voice, but couldn’t help but stumble the words out.

Kyle rolled his eyes as per usual and sipped his drink once more.

“This party sucks.” Eric mumbled as he finished his second can, disregarding it over the edge of the railing.

“You could be in there, having _fun_.”

He scoffed. “I’m having a lot more fun here than I would have there.”

_Had he just said he enjoyed Kyle’s company?_

“I mean you’re pretty shitty too, but babysitting drunk Stan’s such a hassle,” he quickly added.

“Hm.”

 

Eric was feeling the buzz of alcohol shifting into a stonger mode after he’d finished his fourth beer. It tasted disgusting and bitter, but his tongue was limp enough to not care too much.

His eyes roamed his companion’s face.

_When had Kyle become so pretty?_

Despite his pale skin and the bags forming under his eyes, Eric couldn’t help but think he’d grown out of his round face and full cheeks rather nicely.

_What the fuck._

_Why was he thinking that way?_

“Hey Kyal?” he mumbled in a half-slurred manner, catching said boy’s attention. His usually piercing gaze was less than focused due to the amount of drinks he’d had.

“You’re a dumb jew.”

Kyle _laughed._

_That sound felt so rare in his ears._

_He felt his cheeks heating up a little._

“Yeah, well you’re a dumb fatass, Cartman,” the boy shot back, voice light and lacking his usual serious tone.

Eric let out a breathy chuckle.

“I guess we have something in common then, huh?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

The dark cold night surrounding them no longer seemed so lonely and the occasional breezes of air no longer seemed so harsh as Eric looked into Kyle’s soft eyes.

He felt like he could sit there and count each of the thick eyelashes that framed the redhead’s bright eyes and form consteallations out of the splatters of freckles on his face.

He leaned closer to Kyle and reached for a can of beer, when Kyle did the same.

Their fingers brushed against each other, bony and cold meeting his soft an warm ones. Eric stared into Kyle’s slightly surprised eyes momentarily.

Kyle’s hands were so cold.

He forgot all about the can and snatched one of the taller boy’s hands between his, beginning to rub them in an attempt to bring warmth to their almost lifeless feeling form.

Kyle tensed up a little.

“Eric, what are you doing?”

He could feel his heart beginning to beat against his chest suddenly.

“You know.” His mind went blank. “Just hanging out.”

Kyle raised a brow.

“What?” he stared up at him with an almost challenging look, Kyle’s hand still between his.

His eyes snapped to it and he promptly dropped it and stepped away, unable to stop the redness forming on his cheeks.

 

Just as Kyle was about to say something, they heard fast, angry steps approaching them.

“Kyle, where the fuck have you been?” slurred, gruff words called out bitterly.

The two turned around to be met face to face with a furious Stan.


	11. Chapter 11

Silence hung over the balcony as Kyle and Eric stared at Stan, who’d just stumbled in through the open glass door.

Kyle’s fists clung to the sides of his jeans, pinching at the fabric and nervously tugging at it.

“Hey, Stanny boy,” Eric spoke silkily, stepping forward a little with a wide grin on his face.

The dark haired boy looked like a mess as usual. His hair was tousled and messily swept across his head with some starnds clinging to his facedue to sweat. His white shirt had a couple of fresh stains on it accompanied by the spots under his arms and near his neck being stained a little darker with sweat. His face was a little pink and his stance uncertain and wobbly, but the boy was still stood rather intimidatingly and the anger radiating off of him was hard to miss.

Stan gave the brunette a look mixed with betrayal and anger.

“I’ve been looking for you, Kyle,” he mumbled, crossing his arms. “Care to tell me why you didn’t even say hi?”

He glanced at Eric in distaste again. “Or have you found better company?”

Kyle pressed himself against the railing in a defensive manner. “Don’t, Stan. You’re drunk.”

“Don’t what? You said you’d come to the party and here I am, drinking alone, wondering why my best friend ditched me. You’ve barely been spending time with me and when I finally get your ass out of your house, you’d rather hang out with the fatass?” he spat bitterly, stepping- no, stomping forward.

“Stan, don’t be such a pissboy-“

“You,” he raised his finger, pointing it at him in a wobbly manner, “shut the _fuck_ up.” He dragged the f in ‘fuck’ almost indecisively as if trying to remember what word to accompany it with.

“Why didn’t you tell me Kyle was here?”

Kyle glanced between the two nervously and his tongue forked out briefly to lick his lips.

“Because he didn’t seem interested in your company,” he snapped, looking away from the redhead and turning to sneer at Stan, “not hard to see why.”

Stan looked like steam could start steaming out of his nostrils.

_That guy really needed to chill._

“Kyle, what the fuck?” he directed his frustration towards the taller, but much skinnier boy accusingly.

“Am I not good enough for you now? Is that it? Not smart enough for your perfect valedictorian ass?”

Eric could see the uneven movement of Kyle’s chest as he breathed. “I didn’t want to ruin your fun,” he mumbled, but he sounded a little out of breath, almost as though he was having difficulty breathing.

“Ruin- ruin my fun?” Stan’s anger turned to confusion for a moment as his brows furrowed together and he took a half-step back. “You know what? You _do_ ruin my fun.” His tone was more malicious than Eric had heard him sound in a while.

Eric heard Kyle’s breath hitch ever so faintly through the silent night. He couldn’t help but feel anger growing in his mind as he heard those words. How could Stan say that to his best friend? The one he’d spent over a month mourning by drinking his sorrows away. The one he’d tried to avenge by bringing his killer to justice with his fists and bitter words, battering Eric with them. He _had_ earned those, though. Kyle _didn’t_ deserve this shit though, as dumb and selfish and lame as he was.

Stan was obviously no angel when drunk, he’d experienced his violence more than once to know that, but he couldn’t help feeling a little shocked.

Stan was still holding out his finger, now at Kyle as he spoke: “You never spend time with us, you barely reply to my texts, you don’t care about our lives.”

There was no stopping him now, he was drunkenly ranting.

“You always do this shit!”

“You kill everyone’s mood with your moodiness and sulking,” he spat.

_What was Stan doing?_

“You’ve been a _shitty friend_ for a while now!”

Kyle’s hand moved to his mouth, clutching at his jaw in a knuckle-whitening grip as if trying to prevent the mask he’d formed so carefully onto his face from crumbling beneath his bony fingers and Eric could see a small droplet of water escaping the corner of his eye and trickling down his face.

“Thank you for being honest,” Kyle whispered into his hand as he shoved past the shorter boy and escaped the balcony out of the room soon enough.

Both stared after him.

Eric stepped closer to Stan and patted him on the shoulder, giving him a cold look.

“I hope you’re happy.”

 

He quickly made his way out of the house in search for the tall boy, his coat hung over his forearm. His eyes scanned the streets, hoping Kyle wouldn’t do something stupid.

“I swear to got, Stan, if you ruined everything I worked for, everything I _risked,_ I will _fucking_ kill you,” he hissed through clattering teeth, crossing the street in hopes of having more luck in finding Kyle there.

His heartbeat was fastening and he could feel the slight flavour of panic crawling into his chest as he wandered around the neighbourhood. _What if Kyle was doing something stupid?_

_Why did he care? If anything happened to Kyle now, it would be Stan’s fault. No one would blame **him**. The school would shoot their ruthless, almost executing looks at Stan. He wouldn’t have to writhe in the guilt and pain for the rest of his days, hoping it was all a horrible nightmare that would end the second he managed to truly yank his eyes open and brain out of sleep._

But that knowledge didn’t make him feel any better.

_He could recall the sad, tired husk of Mrs. Broflovski and the redness in her eyes that had come from the constant crying. He could remember the smell of beer and vodka on Stan’s breath._

_The way crippling loneliness and sorrow dug into him._

Never again.

 

When he reached Stark’s pond, his knees almost gave out.

A figure was sat on the bench by the pond, knees pulled up to his chest and he was staring at the water in silence.

Eric could barely tell it was him in the dark area, but as the wind gently took hold of his curls and played with them, he had been certain of who it was.

 

He jogged over, feeling the torturous taste of iron in his throat in doing so.

“Kyle!”

He looked up and even in the darkness of the night, Eric could see the barely hidden tears slipping down his cheeks.

The redhead gritted his teeth and looked away trying to subtly wipe the tears into his shoulder. Eric simply sighed and sat next to him on the bench, causing it to creak and dip down on his end a little.

“Kyle.” He chewed on his lip, hoping to somehow pull words out of them by sinking his teeth into them. What could he possibly say?

_Why did he even care?_

“What?” Kyle spat. “Why are _you_ here? You fucking hate me! Just leave me alone!” the boy exclaimed, seemingly being stirred from sorrow to fury by Eric’s presence.

Kyle was right.

_He hated him. Always had. Why not now?_

Kyle’s frame was shaking a little, the pent up emotions beginning to boil over as the events of the night acted like fuel to the small flame of pain and anger he’d tried so hard to keep hidden and to extinguish. His breathing was shallow and desperate as he clawed at his chest, trying to force his lungs to ease up and allow more air into the tight containers.  
The wells in his eyes were overflowing again, leaving minuscule streams making their way down the mountains that were his cheeks.  
He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the amount of unreleased thoughts he’d forced into his head beginning to pour out, but he couldn’t make them stop, no matter how hard he tried.  
No matter the fact that Eric was sat next to him, seeing him at his lowest.

_Why was he so pathetic?_

_He was simply giving Eric another thing to rip on him for._

But he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.

_Why was he like this?_

_Not even Stan, his best friend, the boy he’d found himself fantasizing about too often could tolerate him._

_He’d known that already._

_So why did it hurt so much to hear it from him?_

_Why did heart feel like it was being ripped apart, ferocious claws digging into it from every angle and attempting to pull the piece of meat into their grip, only to end up with a small shred of it._

 

He felt sudden warmth engulfing him, pulling him into it’s soft, almost comforting hold.  
A large hand rested on his back as his face was squished into a soft chest.

He could feel a fast heartbeat next to his ear.

Barely able to get a syllable, he whispered: “Eric?”

The hand on his back patted it hesitantly.

“It’s okay, Kyle,” a low voice muttered into his ear.

 

Eric’s hear was racing.

_What the fuck was he doing?_

_Why wasn’t he pulling away`_

But he couldn’t force himself to. Something stronger than his pride was holding him in place, not allowing him to retreat now.

He took a deep, shaky breath.

“Kyle, Stan didn’t mean what he said.” He sighed.

Kyle shook his head, pulling away from the touch as though it burned.

The mistrust on his face was hard to miss, seeping through the mask he’d been hiding under for so long.

Never in his life, not even before he’d ruined everything, had he seen Kyle looking this fragile, this _broken._ His hands were shaking, almost as if trying to break out of some kind of shackles desperately. Eric could feel the memories of earlier times rush back to him. _The letter, the funeral, the nights staying up._

He couldn’t let it happen again.

Kyle could feel bile in his throat but his jaw clenched and teeth clamped together. He had to calm down. He needed to get away. He needed a lighter or a knife, anything.

This couldn’t be happening.

_His nails digged into his palms, creating small ditches in his less than pristine hands, digging deeper and deeper as he clenched his hands, hoping to reach the treasure and return with blood._

“Kyle, look at me,” Eric’s voice broke into him, hooking around him and moving his eyes to Eric’s. He could barely focus on the brunette, the tears in his eyes refusing to clear away a path for better vision.

It was so dark.

So, so dark.

There were no streetlights in sight and he wished he could just _curl into himself or plunge into the icy darkness so close yet so far from his seat._

His thoughts were interrupted again as he felt a starting tough against the valleys he’d digging into his palms.

Large, soft hands were holding his in a gentle, nearly careful way.

“Kyle, I need you to focus.”

His breathing quickened and he willed his eyes to stay on Eric’s round face.

 

“Why are you crying, Kyle?” Eric interrogated, having to still his own racing thoughts. His personal quarrels with with the boy didn’t matter. He had to do _something_ before _Kyle_ did. He was certain he knew why Kyle was so upset, but he needed to hear it from him to be sure.

Kyle was breathing heavily, loudly even.

“Stan hates me,” he managed to hiss through his teeth in between his frantic breaths.  
“He fucking _hates_ me,” he tried to keep calm but the words almost sounded like a shriek to him in the calm park.

Eric brushed his thumbs across the back of Kyle’s hands gently as he’d seen in so many movies.

“He doesn’t hate you, Kyle,” he assured, certain that his words held the truth and nothing but. Never before in his life had the tone of his voice mattered that much. Of course, he’d learned to control it in order to work his way into the minds of others even better, but this time it wasn’t a simple task of manipulating someone. This time it mattered what he said and how he said it.

“He _told_ me I ruin everything. He _told_ me I’m a bad friend!” he was quick to shoot back in response, his eyes holding a certain kind of determination to them as he did.

Eric tightened his grip around Kyle’s hand just a little.

“He was drunk and angry. You _know_ he didn’t mean that. How could he hate you? You’re his _best_ friend and he was upset because you weren’t spending time with him!”

_That came out wrong._

“Because I’m a bad, no, _shitty_ friend,” Kyle mumbled, trying to hide a pathetic sniffle.

“Kyle, no,” he began tracing circles into the backs of Kyle’s hands.

“He’s just being selfish. Please _believe_ me.”

Kyle stared at him with wide eyes. His shaking seemed to have stopped but he now stood still as a statue, staring at Eric, almost as if trying to drill into his mind to see if he meant it. Eric took this as his chance and began speaking again softly, not daring to look away from Kyle.

“Stan cares about you more than he cares about any other friend. He could less of a shit about _me_ or _Kenny._ He just misses your company,” he shifted a little closer, “he’s just _shit_ at expressing that. Just like he is at most things.”

The faint inkling of a smile that surfaced on Kyle’s lips for a moment filled him with immense relief and made sitting in the fucking cold park worth it in a way.

“I _swear_ , Kyle, as soon as he sobers up he’ll be apologizing left and right, crawling right back to you like a dog.” He gave the boy a weak smirk.

Kyle was silent, seeming to be in thought.

“Kyle do I have to sing _our_ song to convince you~?” he almost purred, hoping to lighten up the mood a little.

“If you do, I’ll murder you,” he mumbled, but he seemed to be a little happier.

“Is that a promise?” Eric teased.

Kyle nodded.

Eric’s lips stretched into a smirk. “Do you _swear_?”

His eyes widened a little and he quickly shook his head, but the smile on his lips couldn’t be hidden.

“ _Eric!_ ”

He chuckled, eyes momentarily nailed to the beautiful smile played on his lips.

_For a moment, he wished Kyle could always smile._

“Hey, how about we get out of this dump?” he suggested, squeezing Kyle’s small hands to get his attention.

“Where should we go?” he was quiet and sounded tired, but he had relaxed and his teartracked face wasn’t stained by any fresh ones.

_Eric could feel his own body untensing as the realization, that the worst was over, washed over him._

“I did say I’d buy you McDonalds.”

 

They were sat by the window of the brightly lit building, cheap plastic trays covered with even cheaper food in front of them. The bright, yellow lights collided with the reflective tiles of the floor, lighting the room even more.

The smell of food being cooked, the bright lights and the _warmth_ gave the commercial building a somewhat homely fee during the late night.

Eric popped a fry into his mouth, his hazel eyes focused on the boy sat opposite him.

In the bright, exposing light, Kyle looked even more tired and going by his slow, confused movements he was quite tired from the buzz still in his brain and the _episode_ he’d had prior.  His curls fell over his shoulders messily and seemed to have no clear direction as they swept across each other, tangling and untangling before creating knots and hoops.

Something deep in Eric wanted to reach out and run a hand through the flames of his hair in an attempt to tame them, but he couldn’t handle being burnt at that moment.

_It was 12 am already and they were sat in an empty McDonalds._

“How are you doing?” Eric managed to muffle out past the food he’d stuffed into his mouth.

The boy just took a sip of his drink, eyes still glued to his tray, looking dazed and much farther away than he was physically. Eric snapped his fingers in front of his face, yanking him from wherever his mind had been.

His tired eyes dragged themselves to Eric’s frame.

“I asked you how you’re doing,” the brunette clarified as he saw the questions in Kyle’s eyes, wanting to ease them.

Kyle shrugged. The movement was small, barely noticeable, but Eric knew it well enough to be able to decipher it.

Releasing a tired sigh, he swallowed his last bite and wiped his hands carelessly into the mountain of paper towels he’d been given before crumbling them up into a ball and tossing them aside. His eyes were still focused on Kyle and his mind kept wandering to the image of Kyle fracturing into pieces.

He’d always imagined that seeing Kyle completely _crumble_ would be much more satisfying, but for some reason he could only feel a clawing feeling of despair in his chest, ripping aside the thick layers he’d covered his heart with for so long.

The nearly muted pop-music was pouring out of the speakers above them almost hauntingly, flowing around in the empty room like a siren searching for prey, reaching their ears and brushing past them, humming the words and tune in a muffled manner.

Eric’s hand reached out and snatched an unguarded fry from Kyle’s tray. He stared at the brunette with a raised brow, but said nothing, continuing to meticulously chew on his food, not really seeming to be hungry or in the mood to eat. He moved his gaze towards window and studied the dark outside, blinking slowly as if dragging his eyelids back up was a tiring chore.

He couldn’t comprehend where his _feisty, angry and confident_ Kyle had disappeared to. It was as though his personality and willpower had bled out slowly and painfully over the years, leaving behind an exhausted, lifeless husk in it’s stead.

 

“Are you gonna eat that or what?” he asked, eyeing the half-full packet of fries that were untouched and had already cooled down. The boy didn’t even glance at him, just shifting the packet towards him with a resigned sigh. Eric was quick to dig in. He was never one to waste food.

“What do you wanna do after this?” he asked mouth still full. Usually, Kyle would grimace or tell him to stop being disgusting, but this time, he didn’t even spare him a glance.

“I don’t know. Go home or something,” he mumbled, but hs voice still held a small drawl to it.

“ _Oh hell naw, Kahl.”_   He waved his index finger around, catching Kyle’s attention.

He heard a loud, annoyed sigh. “And _why_ the hell not? I’ve had a shitty night.”

Eric quickly searched for words, ~~almost desperate to make him stay~~.

“Well, for one, you’re still tipsy,” he began, giving Kyle an inkling of one of his famous smirks, “and we both know what a bitch your mom is.”

“My mom’s not a bitch!” Kyle almost shouted across the room, causing the cashier to jolt and glance at the two carefully. The redhead gave her a sheepish smile and mouthed an awkward apology.

A wave of familiarity washed over Eric, momentarily dragging him to the depths of nostalgia as he saw the boy’s irritation, relishing in seeing the old Kyle surface for a split second.

_Maybe Kyle was still in there?_

As Kyle was his _rival_ , it was his duty to bring him back to normal.

_But was it just that?_

 

“Dude, for one, she totally is,” he raised a finger to silence the other, who’d already opened his mouth in protest, “and you know she won’t react well to crawling home like this. You even _stink_ like a party.”

“It’s not like I have a choice, dumbass,” he mumbled, leaning back In his seat and crossing his arms defensively.

“Also, my mom is _not_ a bitch.”

“We’re not arguing about this again, Kahl.” He rested his hands n the table, leaning over a little to speak to the other.

“And you do have a choice. I’ll allow you to crash your jew ass at my place just this once,” he gave the other a lopsided grin.

Kyle huffed and rolled his eyes, regretting it as soon as he had, gripping the side of his head in pain.

“Ugh, do you have painkillers at your house?”

“How do you think I tolerate you guys?”

A tiny smile tugged at Kyle’s lips.

 

Eric fumbled with the keys, dropping them a couple of times before finally managing to shove the right one into the keyhole, shoving the door open with his shoulder after doing so. It was probably quite loud, but Eric really couldn’t give a shit at the moment.

Kyle seemed to wince at the noise, but kept quiet, stepping in after the brunette and softly, carefully shutting the door, hoping they wouldn’t wake up Eric’s mother,

She was nothing like his mother, much more tolerant and softer towards her son’s behavior, but in a way it had been her downfall as well.  
Her nurturing words and touch, assuring that there was nothing wring with her son had certainly aided in him being who he was.

Eric slammed his hand onto the light switch before hanging up his coat and kicking off his worn shoes. Kyle hesitantly followed in suit, scanning the living room he’d spent so much time in in his youth.

“Hungry?” the brunette asked, cocking his head towards the kitchen.

“We literally _just_ ate, Eric.”

The boy grumbled something under his breath about ‘fucking anorexics’.

“Ai’ght, let’s go make your bed then,” he stated, heading towards the stairs, hands in his pockets. Kyle sighed and slinked after him, feet seeming to barely touch the steps by the lack of sound. Eric, however, couldn’t care less, stomping up as he always did.

He pushed open his bedroom door and left it open as he entered, turning on the lights habitually. He still couldn’t get used to how _warm and normal_ his room felt.

“Wait here, I’ll get you a mattress.”

“The one we tried to use as a boat?” he inquired, raising a brow.

“Who do you think I am? As an amazing host I would _never,_ ” he almost purred, sending an innocent smile the other’s way.

Kyle gave him a _look_.

 

He was digging through his closet, thoughts wandering to the morning, when he’d been crouched in it behind the boxes. He couldn’t help wondering how the other him was doing. Figuring, he’d need to go check eventually, he decided to do so the next day.

He balled up the sheets and blanket before whipping around and tossing them at Kyle.

“Catch!”

Caught off guard, his hands instinctively shot out and he surged for them, stumbling backwards as he was hit by them. Eric snickered and grabbed a spare pillow and pillow case from the open closet and began trying to stuff it into the slightly too tight case.

Kyle spread out the sheet onto the mattress, which Eric had placed a few feet away from his bed. He was crouched by it and straightening them, trying to make them perfect. After doing so, he grabbed the blanket and case, methodically beginning to slide it into it. Eric always had to wonder how people could do it without losing their shit. He always managed to accidentally ball up the blanket in the case and had to start over, before giving up and yelling for his mom to come and help. Then again, Kyle was pretty _perfect_ at everything.

He could see the boy’s messy curls bounce around a little as he made his bed, back turned to Eric and the brunette couldn’t help but grin slyly and creep closer, pillow raised above his head. Before Kyle could turn around to see the source of the footsteps echoing behind him, the back of his head was met with the pillow, knocking him forward and onto his knees.

His hand moved to his head and he turned quickly, eyes glaring at Eric accusingly.

“What the fuck!” he hissed, not daring to raise his voice lest he woke Mrs. Cartman. He rubbed the spot, still looking up at the other angrily.

“Don’t be such a wuss, it didn’t even hurt,” he dropped the pillow onto the bed, sneering. The boy’s thing fingers latched around the pillow and slammed it against Eric’s leg.

“Ay!”

Kyle huffed, placing the pillow back on the mattress and fluffing it. There was a small, hidden smirk on his lips however and Eric could feel a slight tingle of satisfaction in his heart.

He stepped past Kyle, moving to his own bed and slipping his hand under the pillow and dragging his pajama shirt out. He stared at it for a moment, unable to escape the feeling that someone _else_ wore it.   
He shook his head and clutched it tighter, before dropping it onto his bed and beginning to tug up the shirt he was wearing.

He could hear shifting behind him and glanced at Kyle, who’d turned his back to face the other. Eric chuckled, tossing his shirt onto the floor before beginning to slide off the other.

“Embarrassed, princess?” he teased before moving to his pants, popping the button open and unzipping them with ease.

“Sorry for not being too eager to see _your_ gorgeous body,” Kyle spat back, not turning around.

“Your loss~”

He kicked off his pants and socks, dumping them next to his discarded shirt before sitting on his bed. His eyes wandered to Kyle, who had taken off his socks and was about to crawl under his covers.

“Are you seriously going to sleep in that getup?” he questioned, eyeing his long-sleeved black polo and skinny jeans.

“It’s not as if I have anything else, dumb fuck,” he grumbled in response.

Eric shook his head.

“You’re such a handful.”

He pushed himself up and stepped over to his dresser and yanked the top drawer open. Grabbing the first shirt in it, he slammed it shut and tossed the shirt at the other.

“You can wear that.”

Kyle gave him an iconic raised-brow look.

“What now?”

“You really want me to wear _your_ clothes?” he asked, an edge of disgust and amusement to his tone. For some reason, it stung a little.

“What? It’s clean!”

Kyle just rolled his eyes, fiddling with the shirt.

“What, isn’t that good enough for you?” he interrogated, stepping closer confrontationally, “Sorry, I’ll just go skidaddle on over to a shop and get you a pair of silk pajamas!”

Kyle seemed to wince and curl into himself a little as he raised his voice, causing the brunette to bite his lip regretfully.

 “I didn’t mean that,” Kyle muttered, “it’s just weird.”

Eric sighed. “Fine, give it back then.”

He didn’t move, still holding it.

“I’ll wear it,” he finally decided.

Eric shrugged, playing it off as nothing, but it felt like a small victory for some reason.

He sat onto his bed and grabbed his phone, beginning to scroll through twitter mindlessly, a bored expression painting itself onto his face as his eyes glazed over the same content again and again. The sound of ruffling of clothes caught his attention and he glanced up to see the source on instinct to be met with the sight of Kyle gracefully and slowly sliding off his shirt.

His cheeks heated up a little and he forced his gaze down to his phone, trying to keep it glued to it, but his eyes couldn’t help but tread after his movements. His skinny, long arms moved up as he slipped into the shirt that was much too large for him. Even from his bed, he could see thing, pink-ish lines running down Kyle’s arms.

_Fuck._

He couldn’t look away, almost as if he was staring at a car cash in horror and fascination. He briefly saw a glimpse of the boy’s ribs and felt a little sick.

_Did he even eat?_

Kyle began pulling off his jeans and Eric promptly looked away again, pressing his hand against his chest to feel the thumping of his heart.  
_Why was he so anxious?_

Once the boy had removed the shirt and jeans, he automatically folded them and placed them on top of each other neatly. The shirt Eric had given him seemed to all the way down to his mid-thighs, making it almost look like a loose, faded nightgown. Once he was done, he sat on the mattress, knees up and bent a little in a relaxed manner, reminding Eric of a model for a moment.

_Models didn’t have sliced up arms._

Pretending to be on his phone, he studied the horizontal and vertical marks. Some had already morphed into white, raised mounds of skin, indicating he’d been doing this for a while, while others looked _worryingly_ fresh, the flesh around them still a little pink.

“Would ya mind killing the lights, jew?” he asked, trying to sound as smug as usual, but his voice wavered a little as he spoke. Kyle sighed and got up, moving over to the switch. Briefly, Eric got a glimpse of his long, bare legs in action.

_Why did he care about his fucking legs?_

His mind was swept from them, however, as Kyle flicked off the switch, drenching the room in darkness again.  Eric could hear Kyle’s footsteps approaching the mattress, before the boy got onto it, climbing under the covers quietly. The brunette tossed aside his phone and shuffled himself into a comfortable pose to sleep and pulling the blanket over him.

As he lied in bed, trying to fall asleep, he stared at the faint outline of Kyle, just a few feet away from him. He was on his side, back turned to Eric and his curls washed over his pillow, spreading like wildfire.

The room was dark, but a small shimmer of a moonbeam cut through the crack in his curtains reflecting off Kyle’s hair in pale blue tones. The brunette shifted a little and shut his eyes, trying not to focus on the other, but it was certainly hard. He couldn’t sleep. There were too many thoughts in his head. The other him, the Kyle situation, everything. On top of this, his newest problem was figuring out why the fuck Kyle looked kind of pretty. He’d never been jealous of his looks, so why could he feel a slight sense of insecurity now?

Slamming his eyes shut and burying half of his face in the large, soft pillow, he tugged the blanket up to his nose and tried to wash out images of Kyle’s _hair and legs_ out of his mind.


	12. Chapter 12

A strange aura of awkwardness hung over them as morning rolled around, clinging to the air and seeming to thicken it to an extent of being near suffocating.

For once, Eric woke up early. Relatively at least. Rays of bright light peeked into the room from under the curtains and he couldn't help but wince as the light briefly grazed his eye. Sitting up properly, a cruel sharp pain shot through his head. He grit his teeth to silence the curses building up in his throat.

  
  


_Man, hangovers were a bitch. Who said this was okay? Fuck the world. And the universe while you're at it._

  
  


His head hit the pillow once more, hoping the action would somehow stifle the jabs of pain. He hadn't even had _that_ much to drink.

_Wellllll...._

_Debatable._

Abandoning his cause of trying to sleep once more to escape the uncomfortable feeling, he took a look at his companion, who was still very much asleep. It was dark, but the frame of the skinny boy and the pure flare of a wild forest fire that was his hair spread over his pillow was so familiar and recognizable. He could make out the frizzy hair in clumps and small tangles. It was so like him.

If you'd have asked Eric what wasn't oh so perfect and organized about the boy before all this shit, he'd probably have had to point out the absolute nest his hair had always been. Much like the blood soaked locks of his warrior of a mother, it was intimidating in both volume and color. In all his similarities he shared with his mother, or at least had shared, he was glad that Kyle's voice was far from the shrill, ear-piercing one of his mother. Jesus.

He couldn't remember one time that river of locks had been tame. Well, maybe on picture days when his mother would lick it into perfection with mountains of gel to contain the volume and keep the shape. And maybe when the kid had gone full Jersey. Or when he'd shaved it all off in a moment of control slipping through his fingers. He shuddered at the memory. Who knew the kid had it in him to have a whole city murdered?

But that wasn't the point.

He listened to the silence in his room for a moment, half of his face buried into the pillow that smelled oddly fresh, tinged ever so slightly with the lavender detergent his mother had always been fond of.

The only sounds breaking the silence were his and Kyle's breathing.

He rolled over to his back and stared up at the ceiling, the events of the previous night swimming in his vision. That and the small amount of swelling still remaining from his double's vicious attack.

_How was he?_ _He found himself wondering. To be fair, his 'twin's' situation wasn't exactly ideal. He really needed to check on him.Make sure the fucker hadn't escaped somehow. After all, it was_ _him_ _, so he'd need to be cautious. He also needed to rethink his set-up. As much as he disliked the other, keeping his hands tied at all times, while being the safe option, could not be the greatest idea. Humans and their stupid needs._

 

His hand moved to his side, patting around the pillow for his phone. He moved his hand around blindly, irritated by not finding it, but not caring enough to look up. Finally, his fingers brushed against the cheap plastic case of it. Grabbing it on instinct, he hoisted it up, brushing his thumb against the fingerprint reader lazily before finally gazing at the painfully bright screen. 9:30.

A tired sigh pushed it's way past his lips.

Another one mirrored his moments later from across the room, drawing the brunette's eyes to the source.

Kyle sat up slowly, his movement creating a strange rippling trough the silence with the shuffle of his sheets sliding off of him. The mop of curls bobbing around his face was a mess. Kyle didn't seem to mind, however. He swept a couple of strands of hair from his face and turned to face Eric.

Eric had certainly not been the only one to be affected by the previous night. In addition to the obvious tangle of hair, the bags under his eyes had darkened significantly to a point of almost looking bruised from further away and his expression betrayed that the alcohol had affected him as well.

‶What time is it?″ a dry, almost growl-like voice inquired, slipping past the boy's cracked lips. Eric stared. He sounded like crying.

‶Well good morning to you too, buddy,″ he replied jokingly, running a hand through his hair and finally sitting up properly, gritting his teeth.

Kyle sighed again, sounding annoyed, but resigned. He didn't ask again. Eric took that as a cue.

‶It's 9:30, spots.″

‶ _Spots?_ Really?″ an unamused chuckle echoed through the room. Kyle shook his head. ‶That's dumber than most things you've come up with.″

Eric shrugs, ‶trying new things, brah, don't stifle my creativity.″

‶I'm _so_ sorry, mister artist,″ he shot back, ‶maybe you could take a shot at trying to be a decent human being for once too? There's something new.″ The words weren't laced with malice though and the redhead knew that well enough. In what seemed like a moment of shame, whether it was brought on by the lack of malice or saying something 'cruel', he couldn't tell, he averted his gaze, seeming to be lost in his thoughts for a moment.

Cartman **had** been nice. Even the previous night for example. But was it brought on by **wanting**  something? That was usually it. But **what** did he want?

  
  


‶I've got a _killer_ headache,″ Eric grumbled running his hand through the messy strands of his hair. The comment was more of one meant just for himself, almost mumbled into his hand, but Kyle nodded in agreement.   
‶Same. Beer sucks.″  
‶Can't believe I agree with you.″  
Kyle gave him a look. ‶You drank way more than I did.″

‶Look,″ he searched for words, ‶It was a party. Anyway, I don't need to explain myself!″ Kyle's eyes just rolled, but the corner of his lips lifted a little, as if momentarily lifted by an invisible string. It was gone quickly. The brunette finally swung his feet off the edge of his bed, scrunching his nose while doing so as his vision went black momentarily, creating a dizzying foggy mess in his head.

‶I need food.″ He declared, pushing himself up.

‶You always need food,″ Kyle mumbled, but finally managed to get up too, snatching his clothes from the side of his mattress and holding them to his chest awkwardly.

Eric paid it no mind, heading towards the door with the kitchen set as his destination. His head was killing him, but he did his best to ignore it, shutting his bedroom door behind him to allow the other to get changed. His vision blackened for a moment as he took a sudden step down the stairs, but a momentary lean onto the awful mustard yellow of the hallway eased it, vision seeping back to him like water through cloth.

He stumbled through the kitchen door at last, stepping across the cold white tiles quickly, feeling a chill wash over him like a wave. His fingers reached for the cupboard door above him, hooking under it and yanking it open. He hissed in frustration as his nail got caught in the action and pulled his hand towards him again to inspect it in annoyance. The nail found it's way to between his teeth, trying to solve the slight inconvenience by removing the problem. His other hand, in the meantime, searched through a see through plastic box overflowing with white plastic bottles and packages.

He grabbed one of the beautifully rattling bottles and shut the door finally freeing his other hand and wiping it against his shirt casually to rid it of the saliva it had been coated in. He could almost feel the disgusted scrunch of Kyle's face, the way his eye would twitch and how a grimace would mar his face if he had been there to see it. Luckily he hadn't.

He pressed down on the lid of the bottle and twisted it, peeking inside to confirm it was indeed what he had been searching for. Disregarding the lid, he held out his palm and rattled the bottle, allowing the pills to flow and plummet onto his hand like hail drops against the smooth surface of the sidewalk.

Satisfied with the three pills he'd collected, he popped them into his mouth, cringing at the floury taste hitting his tongue. Trying his best to avoid touching them with his tongue, he screwed the lid back on and flicked the bottle away from him in a moment of laziness, not caring enough to put it back where it belonged. With that, he found his way to the fridge and yanked it open. The awfully loud pop accompanying it sounded all too familiar and welcoming. Automatically, his hand swayed to the inside of the door and met with the cold surface of an aluminium can. The cold radiated off it nicely and spread across his hand in a soothing motion as he pulled it out of the fridge.

Popping the can open, he shut the door of the fridge again with a small nudge of his foot. The cold metal of the can brushed against his chapped lips and he gulped down the sweet carbonated content with ease, allowing it to wash down the pills.

He sighed. Hopefully the painkillers would get to work soon, he was so not in the mood to deal with an excruciating headache for the whole day. He had things to do and people to deal with.

Soft thuds echoed across the house and the brunette turned to face the kitchen door, knowing to expect the skinny readhead soon enough. Only he would walk that damn quietly, almost like a mouse.

Leaning against the counter, he crossed his arms and waited for the other, brow raised. As expected, the lanky tall boy slinked into the kitchen quietly, fully dressed and fiddling with the long sleeve of his shirt awkwardly. He'd strung his heavy long curls into a lazy low side ponytail that hung across his shoulder loosely. Multiple strands had been left out of the union binding the rest, frizzing around it aimlessly as the boy moved.

‶Hey there, princess,″ he greeted him, lips shifting into the all too comfortable state of smirking. Kyle just rolled his eyes and walked past him, heading for the sink. With awfully shaky hands he yanked the tap handle upwards, rattling the sink as the old piece was forced from it's position it'd been jammed into.

He leaned over the sink, twisting his head and allowing the water to flow into his mouth, not really minding it getting over his chin and dribbling onto his shirt a little. The sight of the lanky tall boy was somehow funny to Eric as he stared. He couldn't help but compare it to a giraffe desperately lapping at the water by a river, leaning down to reach it. He kept it in though, simply huffing a little air out of his nose in an amused manner.

‶Ya done there?″ he asked as he finally stood up straight, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and yanking the handle back to shut of the stream of water. The readhead glanced at him and his eyes rolled yet again, resulting in a slight wince as a result.

‶Fuck, I hate parties. I hate alcohol,″ he hissed, massaging his forehead with his bony fingers as he scrunched his eyes shut.

‶Want some painkillers?″ Eric offered nonchalantly as he watched the other writhe in the terrible aftertaste of being drunk. Instead of answering, he just held out his other hand, not daring to move his head.

‶I'm not your servant, Kahl,″ he grumbled, but moved over to the counter he'd discarded the bottle on, snatching up the bottle and stamping over to the damn twig and slamming the bottle into his outstretched palm with a loud rattle. He was offered a gritty ‶thanks″ before trying to pry at the lid to no avail. His bony knuckles were turning white as he yanked and yanked.

This time, Eric had to laugh before grabbing the bottle from between Kyle's aggressive hands.   
‶Watch and learn,″ he smirked before pressing down and twisting, popping the lid off with ease. ‶Looks like child proof caps are perfect for keeping out the greedy jew.″

He could see Kyle's eye twitch and his brows furrow as he began to simmer a little. Before he could over-boil and blow up in Eric's face, though, he snatched the now open bottle back and rattled two pills onto his hand in silence, glaring at his palm.

_This was no fun. Where was his reaction?_   
  
  


He dropped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry, wincing a little.

‶I mean you're literally standing next to the sink, but you do you, Kahl.″ He retorted, finding slight humour in the way Kyle just gave him a look.

He moved past him casually, opening another cupboard. ‶Hungry?″ he called out to the lanky figure behind him who was now leaning onto a counter, standing a little too still to be natural.

‶Not particularly,″ he replied, shifting a little. ‶Coffee or something would do just fine.″

‶Caffeine addict,″ Eric grumbled in response. ‶Suit yourself.″

He latched onto the unhealthiest cereal he could find eagerly, rattling the box to make sure he'd have enough for a full bowl. He did. Fuck, his mom was great.

He held up his treasure proudly, shutting the cupboard as he rattled it yet again, almost as if to tempt the other. ‶You sure you don't want any?″

‶Unlike you, my ideal breakfast isn't Lucky Charms. Do you even know how bad those are? You could at least eat something less pure sugar.″

He frowned, lips folding into a perfected pout. ‶Fuck off, jewboy. What even is your ideal breakfast? Bitter bean water? Gross.″ He stuck out his tongue before grabbing a large white bowl and tilting over the box, watching the sweet toxic treats flow into it in a satisfying manner. He then reached for the half-empty jug of milk in the fridge and poured as much as possible without it spilling over the edges, causing the cereal to float on top and threatening to escape the bowl. Kyle seemed to be ashamed of the brunette's entire existence. Just the way it should be.

As he carelessly dropped a spoon into the bowl, allowing droplets to splash out of it onto the pristine counter, he turned to the readhead again. ‶What coffee?″

‶Just a regular black coffee. No milk or sugar.″

Eric was the one disappointed this time. Sure, Kyle drank that awfully often but damn.

_Bitch you live like this?_

Scrunching up his face a little, he dug around the shelves of a cupboard, looking for the French press. Of course, it was on the highest shelf. He cursed under his breath and found himself backing up, ready to grab a chair, only to find a slight warmth brush against him as Kyle approached, leaning over him with ease to grab said item. Eric's cheeks burned suddenly.

Fuck. Why was Kyle pressing against his back? What the fuck??

The moment was short lived, thankfully.

_Dirty jew germs._

Kyle backed away, victoriously allowing the press to hand from his long fingers by it's hook.

‶Where do you keep the coffee?″ he asked, casually. Almost as if he wasn't even aware of what on earth he'd done.

Eric forced his hand to still as he shut the doors of the cupboard, even when the loud thumping of his heart wanted to disagree with that. His ears rung a little and he was sure Kyle could hear the way his chest rung out awfully unrhythmic thuds of a drum.

He had to answer.

Not daring to turn around, he clamped his teeth together in hopes of stifling the tremor threatening to build up in his voice.

‶Check the cupboard next to the stove. Should be there,″ he spoke barely above a hiss and he could feel the atmosphere shifting into a slightly uncomfortable one at his change of tone. That didn't mean he'd try to change it.

This was probably some dumb plan of Kyle's to embarrass him.

But why was he embarrassed by **this**?

He took a deep breath. There was no reason to even react. Why the fuck did he? This was literally nothing.

Too deep into his overthinking, he was startled by a sharp jab at his shoulder. On instinct, he whipped around only to come face to face with Kyle, who was now clutching the French press and a bag of coarse ground coffee to his chest with one hand as the other pulled back from Eric. ‶You got a kettle?″

Eric quickly snapped out of his state. ‶No, I just own a French press and have no way to boil water for it.″ he shot at the other sarcastically, albeit his voice was a little too sharp for the question. Whatever.

Kyle, as usual, just rolled his eyes. ‶Just give me the damn kettle, fatass.″

Back to normal.

‶Patience, jewboy,″ he grumbled and pattered over to where he last remembered leaving it. Hopefully his mom hadn't moved it. That seemed to be a habit of her.

  
  


‶Here ya go, spots.″ He yanked it out from it's hiding spot and began filling it up, not bothering to set it down and instead holding it up by the handle as the water increased it's weight more and more. He stared into the rustic bronze colour of the item, his own image being projected back at him, twisted and deformed in the rippling water that was slowly filling it up.

Kyle walked over to the counter beside him, setting down the press and beginning to fiddle with it. Eric did his best to simply ignore it and focus on the kettle.

Which was about to overfill. FUCK

Quickly, he shut off the tap and tilted the kettle a little to pour out some of the unnecessary water before forcing the lid onto it and taking a step to his left, setting the item onto the stove with slight carelessness, not minding the somewhat loud clang it produced. He twisted a couple of the knobs to turn on the stove and nodded in satisfaction.

  
  


The two now stood in awkward silence that couldn't be filled by a distraction activity anymore.

‶So.″ Eric turned to face the other, leaning onto the counter behind him. ‶Has loverboy texted you his heartfelt apology yet?″

The readhead seemed to bristle at that, knowing too well what he meant. ‶Loverboy?″ his brow quirked upwards, but the flat tone of his voice betrayed that he was well aware of who he meant.

‶Stan. Obviously.″ He wasn't sure if he should poke at this topic, but there was no digging his way out of it anymore, he'd fully submerged himself in this line of conversation.

Kyle seemed to tense a little, brows knitting together in irritation. His fingers laced together nervously to match, clutching each other and fiddling with his sleeved. ‶No.″ His voice was strong, bordering on anger. Good. That was something.

‶Man. Fuck Stan,″ he spat, but couldn't help giving the other a quick look of affirmation after doing so.

The other gave him a side-glance with a raised brow. ‶What do you care about Stan being, well, Stan?″

‶Damn, I finally get to not be the only one ripping on that hippie drunkard.″

Kyle shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest defensively and parted his lips for a moment, before closing him, seeming to go back on whatever he was thinking.

_That's right, bitch. Got nothing to say about your oh-so-perfect boyfriend now, huh?_

_Why did it make him feel so victorious? This was stupid._

  
  


The awful whistle of the kette rung through the air and Eric dashed to turn off the stove before it could wake up his darling mother. Not that he minded her being awake, but he was busy. He grabbed the kettle and moved over to the press, arm shaking a little from the weight pulling it down. ‶Take off the lid, giraffe boy,″ he ordered and Kyle complied, not before going in for a characteristic eyeroll. Eric ignored it and began to pour water into it carelessly, not minding the occasional splash onto the counter.

‶Stop!″ Kyle demanded once he'd dribbled a pathetic amount in. That wasn't enough for even one cup. Jesus.

‶What? You're not planning on having just one sip, are you?″ he sneered, still holding up the kettle, but not daring to pour more.

‶We have to let it sit for like half a minute before you pour the rest,″ he states, as if it were the most obvious thing. Maybe it was, who fucking knew.

He rolled his eyes but set down the kettle onto the counter grumpily. ‶You damn perfectionist.″

‶That's the way you use the French press, fatass.″

‶That's not the way I use it!″

‶That's because you're stupid!″

Eric huffed angrily, crossing his arms. ‶Am not! Tell me one good reason why you gotta do it this way!″

Kyle frowned, thrown off for a moment. ‶Well, uh, there's plenty of reasons!″

‶Name one, pussy.″ He smirked. Gotcha.

Kyle didn't hesitate to angrily yank out his phone from his back pocket and began to type quickly. His eyes lit up for a moment, before fading into disappointment.

‶Fine,″ he spat, ‶it doesn't really matter. But! It does make it taste better″ He was quick to add the last part defensively.

‶Riiiight. Which blog scientist told ya that?″

Kyle just slipped his phone back into his pocket and rolled his eyes.

_And the win goes to_ _**Eric Cartman** _ _!_

He victoriously yanked the kettle off the counter and poured in the rest of the water before setting down the kettle once more and reaching for a spoon from one of the drawers to mix up the muddy liquid.

Kyle said nothing, but set down the lid onto the press, not pressing down just yet.

_More waiting._

His eyes wandered across the boy- the young man standing beside him. He still couldn't believe his eyes and a part of him was dreading the moment he'd be pulled out of his dream by a cold, bony hand, forcing him to face the grey reality that was his life. It didn't seem real. It couldn't be. No matter how strong the scent of coffee lingered in the air, no matter how cold the counter behind him was and no matter how comfortingly warm it had been when Kyle had brushed up against his back, it couldn't be real. He didn't deserve such peace, did he?

The faint look of serenity that had rested upon Kyle's face was so freeing, lifting him up, but an oppressive feeling forced him onto the ground at the same time, creating a dreadful anxious friction he couldn't fight against no matter what he did.

He watched Kyle's eyes shut and open again in a calm blink, the long brown-tinted eyelashes fluttering like wings that invited him to believe, to trust, but at the same time stay weary.

It was fine. Kyle's here, you're not at fault anymore.

He knew that wasn't true. He was still at fault, wasn't he? He'd still done it, didn't matter if he'd reversed it. He'd pulled the trigger to his own demise.

But no one knew.No one blamed him.

He did. He knew. And he blamed himself more than anyone.

  
  


_‶_ Eric?″

He felt as though ice cold water had been poured all over him and could barely keep from wincing at the imaginary contact.

‶What?″ he tried his best to convey annoyance, but even he could notice the waver in his voice. For fuck's sake.

‶You seemed...kind of out of it. You okay?″ Kyle asked, measuring him with that skeptical gaze of his.

‶Yeah, just fine. What? Was Kyley-whiny worried about poor ol' me?″ he quickly changed his tone, grinning.

Kyle didn't roll his eyes for once.

He shrugged. ‶Maybe.″

  
  


_Well fuck._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I'm showing up late with Starbucks  
> I KNOW IT'S BEEN LIKE 3 MONTHS OR MORE  
> I'm sorry ya'll, didn't mean to take this long! My laptop died and so did my draft for this chapter like 2 months ago which totally killed my motivation to work on it, but here's FINALLY the new chapter. I will try to be more regular with updates, but again, I've got tons of stuff to do lately so no promises. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this kind of slow chapter!


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